


Dunkelheit

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Multi, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 173,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Mind tellin’ me what in the fuck you think yer doin’?” Negan asked.  You had the sheer gall not to look at him, turning your face to the slumped figure in the truck.  “Righting a wrong.” You’d travelled for too far, and for too long, to deal with anyone else’s bullshit, looking for a place to belong in the end of days. He cackled at your accent “-Well shit, we got us an English Muffin, what’s yer name?”. You gave him a withering look. You’d had too many by now.





	1. What's in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: DRASTICALLY CANON DIVERGENT, so AU I guess? This doesn’t really have much direction in mind, I’m just TWD addicted. Reader/Negan, Reader/Many (Taking suggestions). Fem!Reader. Story better than summary, pretty please reviewsies? I’m going to go ahead and say this btw: EVERY TRIGGER, and a lot harsher than the show, I’m used to writing for Game of Thrones and it shows.

Four years ago, at the age of fourteen you had boarded at Gatwick Airport for Canada and then crossed to Seattle with your parents to attend a wedding. Four years ago, you had left England, and had never come back. The first thing you noticed about the USA was how impossibly large everything was, homes, cars, even the roads. In the UK, everything was small, quaint and within walkable distance, in the USA there was nothing but the vast open road and you needed a car to get anywhere.

 

Everything was just, plain, large. Canada had been the same, but you couldn’t help but think the atmosphere was friendlier. The landscapes regardless, were unfamiliar. India had been a vast wasteland until you got the cities, but it was fraught with its own dangers and clearly developing still last time you went, you could handle that, but this? Whole new ball game. Four years ago, you went to attend the funeral of Rajesh and Gurpal Singh in Vancouver, Canada. Prolific mobsters under a new Indo-Canadian South Asian crime syndicate responsible for the mass export of drugs from India and Cambodia, who just so happened to be your family from your father’s side. Shortly after that, a wedding in America, because your family just couldn’t get any fucking weirder, could it? Still, the fact they’d attended the funeral at all was a small wonder, and they’d been collective sighs of relief that the crime brothers were dead. The trip overall seemed to be to get to the States, with Canada as a kind of layover. At fourteen, you didn’t really care, you just wondered how much debt your family had gotten into or who they owed a favour to even afford such a frivolous trip.

 

And of course, America would be the fucking place where the world went to shit. Stupid Americans. This is probably their fault. Somehow. Whenever the world goes to hell in a handbasket, you can guess they're probably to blame. The crash of '08, anyone? Shit, man. America sneezes, the whole world feels it, right? Well, you guessed America must have took a massive shit on the collective world, because you can't think of a goddamn reason for the dead to start walking.

_‘I was supposed to be on holiday y'know. Get the stupid micky mouse hats, try the southern food, usually the TSA trying to finger your delicate asshole and the amount of checks you have to go through just to visit the sodding place makes anyone feel unwelcome - so imagine my surprise when they shut down the airports and do everything in their power to keep us all here’_ you thought bitterly.

 

While you were grateful for any excuse not to fly Ryanair back home, the end of the world was a bit overkill. You’d been in an airport when it happened. Sitting on a row of chairs with your mother on one side, father on the other, and hacked PSP, playing some mindless RPG you didn’t really care too much about.

 

Gods, if only you’d spent that time actually talking to your mother – you spent a lot of nights sitting and thinking what else you could have done, and how unaware you’d been about the horrors of the world at the age of fourteen. Sure, you had your own set of life experiences, running with small-time gangs in fairly ghetto (or faux-ghetto) secondary schools and selling a bit of skunky weed here and there.

 

It had been such a slow decline at first, but by day three, people had gotten sweaty and anxious, the security were now backed up by air marshals, and they patrolled with guns. The airport had been Fort Knox for a while, until the power went out. Then the generators. Then the water, and over two years, then the food.

 

That had been four years ago, and you’d recently turned nineteen, or maybe twenty, you weren’t sure anymore. But it had been a long time since you’d been lost in Seattle. You’d travelled directly across this great land and almost mourned not getting to know it in it’s beautiful way, before the end of the world. The last plane with fuel had gotten you and the few survivors all the way to New Orleans, because there was rumour that Atlanta was one of the best surviving hold outs near the end, but Louisiana was as far as the jet could get them. So much had changed, and now, staring at the end of a barbed wire bat in the middle of buttfuck nowhere Virginia, you had almost wished you’d stayed in the bayou. But too much had changed.

 

Too much. The bayou wasn’t safe anymore after all those years, so you left with your mother at your side.

 

“Now lookie, what doooooo we have _here?_ ” a tall, broad, well-built man who smelled like a mixture of sweat and leather that had baked under the blistering sun. He looked at you with hooded, dark eyes and shot you a strangely friendly, but unnerving smile behind a salt and pepper beard. Everything about his mannerisms sent your hackles up like a dog cornered by danger. That big fucking bat in your face would be enough to send anyone on edge, but there was something about the cocky man that kept you even more alert, with your eyes more focused on him than the weapon.

 

Your fingers twitched for your weapon, legs slightly apart and standing firm, quietly assessing the situation. There were several armoured trucks behind him. They were probably filled with ammunition, or supplies – or both. They were a well to do group, it was hard enough getting petrol these days, but they had enough to power absolute gas-guzzlers. There were…count… one…two…three…. Goddammit, six men, including the leader, and they all had more manpower, firepower than you. Even their positioning was complete encirclement.

 

There was something riskier than the dead, in the apocalypse, and that was other survivors. Instinct told you it’d be very, very prudent to fall in line, or you wouldn’t be leaving here alive. Simple as that. You saw them raise a gun at your mother, and let out a sharp snarl.

 

**_“No!”_ **

 

The man looked at you and silently signalled his men to point their guns to the floor and then took a step back to walk around you. Attached to your firm wrist was multi-coloured material, ripped from different kinds of clothing and weaved together into a braid to make a hard rope. Attached to your wrist, was your mother – a buddy system.

 

You hissed as he raised his bat up to your mother.

 

Very suddenly, he started laughing. Uproariously. Like you’d told the world’s funniest joke, when all you had said, very protectively, was the word “No,”.

 

“Well holyyyyyyyy fuckin’ shit boys!” he spread his arms open wide, still holding the bat, wildly gesturing to you and your mother, and all the space behind you. “And I thought _I_ was fucked up!”

 

You could hear your teeth grinding in your mouth, and apparently, so could the man.

 

“Now now, let’s not do anythin’ we’re gonna regret here, psycho. Cos the way I see it, is behind me, I’ve got about six guys who could turn you into swiss cheese before you swing those pretty little weapons of yours,” he gestured to an ornate, small scabbard at your side, and the hilt of a long weapon behind your back that he could not fully see. “So you’re going to wanna open your ears up, little lady, and answer all my questions.”

 

Already, you despised his cocksure tone. But it had to be better than what was in the bayou. Nothing, surely, could be worse.

 

“What….” His smile now betrayed an underlying anger that had been seething under his skin this entire time “-are you doing, in one of my trucks, with one of my boys dead?”

You realised how long it had been since you’d spoke beyond small words and grunts, or the occasional scream, when your voice tickled and hurt a little. You’d been on the road from Louisiana to Virginia for….Gods, months now? It had been only recently you found a small lake house to set up in, and woke up to find it ransacked, as you’d taken to sleeping in the attic. It had been a long time since you had seen a living face.

 

 “Righting a wrong,” you crackled out, hoarsely.

 

You’d travelled for too far, and for too long, to deal with anyone else’s bullshit, looking for a place to belong in the end of days. He cackled at your accent. Laughing harder than before, disbelief washing all over his features, like he’d just stumbled upon the world’s most beauteous bounty in the middle of a barren desert.

 

 

 “-Well shit, we got us an English Muffin!”. You gave him a withering look. Whatever you expected the terrifying man to say, it wasn’t…well, that. Your jaw clenched. These had to be the people who robbed the lake house, those truck tracks were the only thing for miles, and you’d been following them blindly, hoping to get somewhere. You weren’t much of a tracker, but you were pissed, and whoever ravaged your den had also run dry all your usual scavenging spots and left it barren. These assholes.

 

 

‘ _These assholes with guns and a scary bat.’_ You reminded yourself, feeling your heart trapped in your throat and doing everything not to betray that fact.

 

 

“Oh, say somethin’ else darlin’,” he grinned wildly. Your fingers twitched again – you were not some performing monkey, but as it stood, you were at his mercy.

 

“What the fuck do you want me to say mate? Pip pip, cheerio?” you sneered. Only for the man to chuckle, still grinning, eyes brimming with sudden mirth. He turned to his men with a strange, cheerful candour.

 

“Didja hear that? ‘Mate’ – shit, man, this is the LAST thing we expected to find today,” he chortled.

 

“Oh, you are so lucky that I am findin’ you funny, I was gonna let Dwight pop you straight in your pretty little head!”

This caused you to tense all over, eyes scanning over each of the men and wondering which one of them was ‘Dwight’ – who would have had the privilege of killing you cold, dead.

 

Old Guy was batshit, clearly. Still not as bad as what you’d left behind though.

 

“Let’s get back to the subject at hand, shall we? Rightin’ a wrong, rightin’ a wrong…” he almost sing-songed. “Tell me how we wronged you, darlin’ – we’re all ears,”

 

Clearing the phlegm and scratchiness with an unattractive clearing noise, you remained stood to attention, tense all over, and hand pointlessly curled around the hilt of your curved dagger. His eyes were trained on you though, you knew that whatever foolish mask he had on, he was alert, like a panther stalking their prey.

 

“The Lake house,” you started. “-I tracked you. I was stayin’ there, and I when I woke up, all my shit was gone.”

 

Truly, you didn’t mean to kill the driver when you caught up with him, but he didn’t take kindly to you popping his tire in the middle of Walker central to get your shit back.

 

“And you thought suitable revenge would be to…kill one of my guys. One of **my** guys, and damage one of **my** vehicles,” okay, now the truly pissed off tone seeped through, you narrowed your eyes at him.  You took the bear approach, if you were going to die, wouldn’t he have killed you by now? Still, don’t take chances in the apocalypse. Rule one.

 

The next part – it happened too fast for you to even comprehend. Your breathe died in your throat as he raised his bat, and swung it.

 

Behind you.

 

“You take one of mine, I take one of yours, though, I suppose the trade-off isn’t exactly fair, but Danilo was a dim piece of shit, so close enough.”  A shower of red flicked out from the barbs wrapped lovingly around the wooden baseball bat. You shuddered, and suddenly felt like you could hear nothing but a dull moan screeching and reverberating through your head. It was like everything had slowed down – you could even feel the harsh gust of air from how hard the man had swung that bat of his.

 

 

 

It didn’t feel real until you heard a soft thud near your feet, and the makeshift rope around your left wrist sagged.

 

The way the men were looking at you was strange, like you had done something terrible and swung the bat yourself, but you realised you had shrieked something as your mind had gone blank, and the horror washed over you, finally – because your mouth had fallen open.

 

“Well, shit,” the man chortled.

 

“Did you just say ‘Mummah’? “ he mimicked your accent “-that thing was your mom?”

 

You ignored him, eyes wide and cast directly to the bludgeoned walker. She had her hands removed, and her mouth covered in several layers of rags to stop her from biting through it. There had been no way to keep her hands from grabbing, because eventually she would strain the rags off, so you had to just…get rid of them, and that had been hard enough.

 

Seeing her dead again was even harder.

 

It seemed like he let you get away with silence for far too long, just staring mutely at your mother. It didn’t seem real for a very long time, for months, even as she started to smell, but now – now it was. It was because of her that you weren’t getting attacked, that you could stagger through a hoard without covering yourself in guts, which you’d done before, but it was dangerous if you had any open wounds.

 

She was, even in death, doing what she’d always done.

 

“You had her on a lead like a fuckin’ dog or some shit? That’s fucked up,” he seemed like he was giggling, and you didn’t take kindly to the tone, a sort of fieriness rising out of you, as if you would mistreat the woman who had brought you into this world!

 

“She was protecting me!” you snarled “-the rotter’s weren’t going near me with mum by me, I got through the bayou hoard because of her,” the passion in your tone was like a cold drench of water. He stretched a little, moving his blood covered bat over the back his left shoulder. He clung to what you called the dead. Rotters. It even sounded so painfully British coming out of your mouth.

 

 

“Well, I re-killed your mom, you killed one of my boys, now all that’s left is that there blown tire you gave me, what could you do…” his eyes glittered over to you “-to possibly repay me for my troubles?”

 

You went silent, heart pounding, forcing yourself to look away from your mother to stare angrily up at the man, who was much taller than you. Swallowing thickly, your mind plummeted to the sewers instantly, you’d been in a human community before, a few times even, and repayment could mean a lot of things. Especially if you were a woman. The way he looked – like a predator, just made it seem all the more likely.

 

Thankfully, he didn’t expect an answer from you.

 

“It is your lucky day, darlin’ – you can repay me by bein’ useful, cos you sure do look capable, are you capable?”

 

Yes would be the only answer that kept you alive, so you just jerked your head in affirmation.

 

“Cos’ as dumbshit as Danny was, he was capable, and losing good men – well, they don’t grow on trees. You better hope the answers yes,” he cleared his throat, and got deeply into your personal space.

 

Bear approach. Try to look bigger than them. Do not show your fear. You did your best to look haughty, but it was hard when your head reached his chest. He seemed amused by it, which was better than pissing him off.

 

“Dwight! Get the tire changed and drive Danny’s truck,” he smiled at you “-Leaves you room to sit with me, you ‘n me – we’re gonna get to know each other.”

 

You shuddered.

 

“I’m Negan,” he brandished the bat he’d bludgeoned your mother with “-and this, is my lovely Lucille, ain’t she a beauty?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nothing could be worse than the bayou. That was why you’d come with them, peacefully. Negan and his men took in your appearance first. You sure did look like someone who’d been wandering around on their own. Raw selvage denim jeans which were actually brown were now deep black and stained to hell and looked half burgundy from the blood which had seeped too deep into the material to wash out.  The trainers you’d you had for four years finally wore through to the soles, so now you had to wear pools of sweat around your feet, well, mountain boots that ended around the knee.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck the American sun. At least in India, you had saaris that were weather durable. A netted baseball shirt fell over a discoloured patchy bra and it was clearly obvious you’d tried to armour yourself, it looked like you robbed a sporting goods store. There were hockey shoulder pads, and elbow pads around your persons, but little else, yet you seemed permanently covered in a sheen of sweat, soaking into the crevices of the muscles built over the four years.

 

They didn’t seem too concerned with letting you keep your weapons, normally, Negan would strip them, but with the heavy rounds the boys had, and the fact you were on your own - he didn't feel like he needed to scare you. He took one look at you and knew you had to be scared. He stared at you intensely in silence when you were loaded onto one of the trucks, forced to sit across from him in the back as you were driven. You kept staring at the clothe material around your wrist, and closed your eyes briefly.

 

It didn't seem right, just leaving your mother bludgeoned on the ground like that. She should have been burned, or buried, or something. Just not this - however, you were keenly aware that you did not have many options, and these men could just as easily turn on you an open your throat up in a half-second. You'd killed one of their boys, and the leader was a certifiable nut just from how he conducted himself - naming his bat too? Insane.

 

"Well, fuck me girlie, ain't you exotic?" you flinched at his greasy tone, eyes moving to stare at him without turning your head, refusing to show the fear that was knotting up in the base of your stomach. "So what are you then? You don't look like a Mexican Special," he said lazily. His eyes flitted up to the loose material you had wrapped around your head in a skillful deep red turban, but it wasn't a thick or large one, it was mostly to keep the heat from bleating against your scalp, the rest of your dark hair fell down freely from under it, down your back and ready for grabbing. You did your best to keep it tied back, most days, but you'd lost the thing you tied it with a while back.

 

The way that he kept Lucille betwixt his knees, handle up, reminded you that you had to answer him - humour him - even. The plan had been to get your shit back and keep driving until you were well out of dodge, maybe to a coastline, or something. Anything. Now that Atlanta seemed more and more like a pipedream, you knew you just had to keep moving. Just to keep away out of Louisiana, and The Bayou Community. Far away from New Orleans. Far.

 

This 'Negan' couldn't be worse than.... _her._

 

Out of a battle of devils, you were ready to take the smaller one.

 

"Indian. I'm Indian," you said shortly, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the wall of the truck, seeing your mother in your mind's eye. What were these guys going to do to you? You'd essentially been kidnapped, so it was whatever you gleaned from Negan, in terms of your future.

 

He smiled toothily at you.

 

"Oh darlin', I got so many questions for you," he sounded like a kid in a candystore, but already, the social interaction drained you utterly. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" his tone took a sudden sharp turn, he was like a switchboard. It forced you to jerk upright and glare at him unflinchingly.

 

"Where's your group? We know everyone who passes through here, nobody walks past an outpost without someone knowing and tellin' me. How'd you manage to stay holed up in a Lake House without my boys finding you, hm?" his tone was insistent, and brooked no room for argument.

 

"I don't know, maybe they're blind as shit. I was in the attic, and it was just me and mum, we passed through a hoard. So we're easy to miss unless you're out thinning them on the regular," you said shortly. You had no desire to make smalltalk with this old fuck, he still had your hackles up, clearly.

 

"Ohhh now now now," he clucked, wagging his finger in your face "I don't take kindly to that attitude, not one bit. I'm taking you in out of the kindness of my heart, and I've forgiven a lot, so you're going to answer me, I admire that brass pair you have sweetheart but I'm not one for beating around the bush,"

 

You clenched every muscle you could until your body was a tightly wound coil, fist around your dagger hilt, but keenly aware of the lazy gun trained on you out of your peripheral vision from the driver beside the passanger seat in the front. Negan noticed, because every vein that could raise against your tanned flesh was raised, and there was an almost angry heave to your chest. His eyes trained onto the discoloured brassier and at the cleavage, before looking up at you again.

 

"That was smart though, using your old lady like that,"

 

He snorted at the look on your face.

 

"Oh honey, unclench wouldja? I'm not gonna lay my hands on you. I decided that the second I told them not to shoot on sight, no, you're more valuable to me like this,"

 

You remained clenched.

 

"How'd you get to the glorious US of A?" you didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not, and looked at him like he was slow for a second.

 

"I flapped my arms and flew, how'd you think? A plane, you prick," you snarled. Usually, this would have pissed Negan off, but something about your accent swearing at him just sent him into a jolly mood. He smiled, tilting his head to one side as he looked at you.

 

"Usually I'd nip that disrespect in the bud but when you swear at me in that accent of yours it just makes my cock twitch,"

 

Now that came right out of left field.

 

He probably said it for shock factor, he seemed like the psycho sort - like her - back in the Bayou Community. You flushed lightly, feeling your skin get clammy from your anxiety mounting. You really, really wished you had your mother here. You didn't have any smart mouth to fire back at his words, and simply fell silent.

 

"So what's your name?" he said "-I told you mine, so you tell me yours," and he said it in a tone that insinuated 'you show me yours and I'll show you mine' that was strangely sexual, but perhaps it was because he was a sexual beast in nature. He was a deep, masculine sort of man who oozed an alpha atmosphere in every breathe he took, you looked away from him, trying to get your thoughts in order.

 

"I've had a lot of names," you said shortly. A brief haze coming over you. Typical. This was your first human interaction since the Bayou and it had to be this. Your fingers moved from the dagger and wrapped around the wrist with the loose bit of material that had kept you and your mother together. This part had been made from the sleeve of one of her favourite sweaters. To think, this is all you'd have of her.

 

As the truck moved over the smooth roads you glanced over the driver seat from where you were sat just long enough to tell you were going North. Negan seemed annoyed at the fact you didn't really want to talk to him, but he knew you weren't stupid enough not to humour him. He was all that stood between you and death.  It would be to your benefit to get on his good side.

 

"Your name?" he emphasized, annoyance seeping back into his tone.

 

God. How many stupid arguments had centered from that question? 

 

How many times Evelyn had asked you your name - your stomach pained at even the thought of the woman's name, violently jerking you to the present, facing Negan's expectiing eyes. Your voice was hollower than you expected it to sound, even to your own ears. A sort of empty glaze had gone over both of your eyes, looking dimly at the terrifying man.

 

"Deadshot."

 

Now that wasn't your birthname, it wasn't even one you liked, but it was what you were called now. Negan scoffed and gave you an irritated look - he knew it wasn't your name either.

 

"That weren't the name your mother squeezed you out with," He was so...vulgar, "I'll call you that for now. But I'm going to find out your name. I'm going to find out everything about you. There's no secrets in the Saviors sweetheart, that's the first lesson you'll learn," he paused "Well..."

 

He leaned in.

 

"Specifically, there's no secrets from _me,_ "

 

 

 


	2. God, Who Broke the Girl?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan takes you to camp despite your warnings, there you meet the strangest community you've seen in a while, but certainly not the worst. Oh no, the worst was right behind you.

You didn’t talk much. You had no real desire to make any kind of friends here. The plan was to find a map and get to the coast. Maybe you could get to one of the Hawaiian islands or something? Every boat will be gone or long defunct, and Hawaii was probably gone, but if there were human communities there, the space would be much easier to manage, even if Rotters swam up to the shores. In theory, even if an island was utterly taken over, which you struggled to believe with the nature of man’s resilience, it could be better secured.

 

That was the only plan you had, which you hadn't had any real time to solidify since you left the lake house as you didn't even have a map of the state, let alone one enough to plan to get to the coast. You had no idea how the fuck you’d get there. The planes were all dead. You’d probably have to make something seaworthy, so you had between now and finding the coast to fill in that gap or find someone who could. The only respite you could really hope for was a place where it was easier to manage rotters. Things like happiness were a relic of the past, this was just survival, and relative peace. That’s all you needed, anything more than that was just frivolous.

 

“So, how old are you?” he asked suddenly. You gave Negan a strange look which betrayed how clueless you truly were, it had been a long time since you’d even thought about your birthday. How old…? Why did that even matter anymore? The world had gone to hell. Still, maybe he just wanted you to talk. He seemed to like it when you talked.

 

“Nineteen, maybe twenty? I don’t… look, it’s been a long time since I’ve kept track.” You said, brow furrowed "-why you asking?"

 

He did not bother to answer you, instead, the wheels seemed to be turning behind his eyes. It made you nervous. Negan gave you another once over, before clapping so loud that the person beside the driver flinched a little with you. It was like a bang. You looked at the strange man, he had a terrifying sort of charisma about him, and the whole conversation felt like you were on eggshells, wondering what could possibly make him flip again.

 

“Rick, she could almost be a playmate for your boy!” he chortled. You wondered what he meant by that word, and instantly, your mind plummeted to all of the dark depths you had experienced humanity sink to.

 

Your eyes narrowed. You absolutely planned on putting these ‘Saviors’ behind you the second you could get out from this Negan’s grip. If anything, they were a rest stop in a bigger, more nebulous plan, and the fire that suddenly lit in your empty eyes caught his attention.

 

“I don’t _do_ communities,” you said shortly “-I’ll be gone as soon as I’m ready to leave,”

 

Negan raised a cocky brow at you, annoyed at your reply, but continually enthralled by your sheer gall. It was perhaps, the same sort of quality that kept him interested in Rick’s son, Carl, which is also probably why his brain put two and two together.

 

“Well maybe you’re a little old, but shit, whose picky in the apocalypse?” he turned to the passenger side and thumped the seat aggressively.

 

“Rick, what do you think? You think Carl could do with a playmate?” the man whose name appeared to be Rick did not reply. In fact, you noticed a sort of brokenness about him, and it was rather like staring into a mirror, even if you didn’t get the chance to see his face properly, you could see it in his eyes on the overhead.

 

“Answer me,” Negan snapped, forcing Rick to struggle out and say he didn’t know. Honestly, Rick never knew how to respond to Negan other than forcibly bend the knee and choke down all of his pride.

 

“I don’t do groups,” you reiterated. The man turned to you, and very suddenly, started to prowl towards you, invading all of your personal space with his tremendous body, like he was trying to intoxicate you in his domineering aura. It was a technique you were all too familiar with.

 

“I get it, I get it – you’re a badass –“

 

 **“You don’t want me here!”** you snarled, finally raising your voice, enough that Rick actually turned and peeked through the seats to see the expression on your face. Nobody raised their voice to Negan. Nobody. A flash of anger had overcome him, his hand reached out and with a loud whack, slapped against the wall of the truck, breezing past your ear. It was a fear tactic, but you didn’t flinch, holding your stare with the older man as much as you could, feeling the fear nestle in the base of your chest.

 

“Don’t you dare suppose to tell m—“ Negan began, the threat now overwhelming in your voice, but somehow, you found a bravery in your voice to be even more daring, and cut him off.

 

“You don’t want me here, ‘Negan’,” you said, testing his name on your tongue. He was the leader – you wondered if he had some sort of honour title or something, considering how people spoke to him. “Sir?” you added unsure.

 

“You don’t want me here, and you don’t want me dead either, best thing you can do, is let me pass through,” you warned, taking a strangely diplomatic tone, sensing the anger in his face, especially at such close proximity, almost nose to nose.

 

He let out a very sudden low moan, and threw his head back with a maniacal sort of grin. It shook you - how he just flipped moods like that. He was absolutely impossible to try to predict, the man was like gunpowder, and that was what made him different from the leader of the last community you dealt with. This made him more dangerous. Unpredictability was dangerous.

 

“Ohhh honey, you just keep callin’ me Sir like that and you’re gonna make my dick hard enough to cut diamond,”

 

He was being a provocateur of course, but still, almost on instinct, your eyes glanced down – but his trousers betrayed nothing. Negan caught the movement though, and swayed his hip a little to show he had followed your stare. Fucking prick. If the situation wasn't so uncertain, it might have even been funny, but the banter felt entirely one-sided.

 

“So why’re you trying to warn me, hm? You have no idea what a mean punch my guys pack, Rick can vouch for it though, cant ya Rick?” he jibed.

 

Rick couldn’t say anything, except for “Yes.” – in the most defeated tone you had ever heard from a man. The whole atmosphere of the truck was uncomfortable, but at least you hadn’t been hurt yet.

 

“Your group?” he said, pressing you.

 

“I told you I don’t do groups, you goin’ deaf old man?” you snapped, making him bristle. Apparently, he didn’t take to being called old.

 

“They ain’t my group, they’re trouble, and if you make me stay, they’ll bring trouble to you,” – Negan scoffed at the idea, but Rick was listening intently, you were a curiosity to be sure.

 

“You a hot commodity or some shit?” guffawed Negan “-I assure you darlin’ I got more firepower then you even know,”

 

Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. You shrugged with one arm and continued to tug on the red material around your wrist, staring deeply at it to avoid Negan’s stare. The sound of the truck running was strangely soothing, and it was a mercy on your legs at least, which had now hardened muscle from the knees down from the sheer amount of walking you had done across the vast landscape of America.

 

“They have enough resources to track me out of state. You might have more firepower. Or maybe they do. Do you want to risk your people?”

 

Negan looked at you, before lowering himself and forcing your eyes to level with his. Suddenly, it was like you couldn’t get enough air in your body and it was all taken by his larger than life personality. You could feel his breathing on your face, any closer, and his nose might have even started to touch you.

 

“You sound like a hot commodity then, and this is my turf. The way I see it, I have the home advantage and you have….” He almost purred, and it disturbed you. “Empty threats.”

 

You said nothing for the rest of the journey.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Negan walked over to you in the breadline. You found this community to be strange, they operated on a points based bartering system and their reverence for Negan was frankly unnerving, you’d been there for all of a few hours and already weren’t keen on the atmosphere, but it was a lot better than the bayou at any rate. He told you to get food, more or less ordered it, before making you bypass the line, grab a plate and put it in your hands. You were aware of the annoyed and angry stares from the people queuing, personally, you didn't blame them. Had the situation been reversed, you'd be equally pissed off. Even if you wanted to make friends here, it was looking increasingly unlikely.

 

"Eat up buttercup, you won't be getting another freebie for a long time," he smirked.

 

You stared at the mixture - it was powdered eggs and warm beans, in an apocalypse, it was gourmet. You wolfed it down shamelessly, if there wasn't a tiny plastic spoon, Negan was sure you would have just tipped the whole thing into your mouth. He let out a low whistle, before walking behind you and glancing down to your backside at the weapon strapped to your back.

 

"Damn darlin', that thing's almost as big as you! How heavy is it?" he spoke like you were old friends. You grunted into the bowl and didn't reply, not even reacting as he touched the heavy hilt with one hand and raised it against the strap you had rigged so you could carry it on your back, before letting it go with a surprised noise. "Shit, no wonder you're ripped, that's what, 20-30 pounds?"

 

You didn't know, and frankly didn't care. It used to be so heavy you could barely swing it off the ground without being lost in it's momentum, now you could swing it with one. Yeah. You were stronger. Much stronger.

 

"It's big and it wrecks rotters," you said simply as he let out a low, appreciative whistle. It was definitely caked in enough dead blood to show it had been used for that exact purpose.

 

It was a gigantic fucking sledgehammer, and Negan had no idea where you found it, so clearly you had to have been carrying it a while. Damn. He rocked on his feet a bit, hands in his pockets and chuckling. He was marvelling at you, you were just some sort of oddity in the great land of the dead, a shining golden needle in the world's biggest haystack. He could not, for the life of him, divert his attention. It was like when he first met Carl, but more intense, because you were odd even by survivor standards. A child raised by the end of the world, now a woman, in a place she never belonged. It was for that, that you fascinated Negan.

 

"Cool dagger," he said passingly.

 

Your face twitched. What was this, a runway show? Gulping down the last of the food with enough gusto to give you tiny food-induced hiccups, you wiped your lips on the back of your hand crudely and suddenly felt massively defensive over the thing.

 

"It's a kirpan," you bit out. When Negan met you with a blissfully blank expression, you simply shoved the empty bowl back to the person on kitchen duty and folded your arms beneath your chest, glaring at him warily.

 

"Normally I strip the weapons of people I don't trust, but I think you understand that it'd be mighty silly if you went around swinging those in my camp," there was an underlying threat to his tone, but you didn't need to deal with his dickswinging. You knew the rules to places like this and made sure he understood it when you rolled your eyes noticably and nodded. Had you not walked away and followed him from the breadline to relative privacy, he'd have been a lot angrier about your blasé disrespect in front of his community. It was all one big, chest-beating exercise. Society collapses and Man succumbs to its base nature, and you get fucked up little shitshows like this.

 

"Now, you're gonna have to give those to the guard I assign you just in case you get any funny ideas about running, but your weapons are yours, and we'll see about you earning your keep in the morning, hm?" he said rhetorically.

 

You clenched at the thought of handing over your kirpan, the sledgehammer you could live with, but not the kirpan. Your cousins had gotten you it when you first started reading holy scripture. God now seemed further away then ever in a time when the world had ended, and the teachings almost lost, but not entirely, yet the sentimental value was there. Even if your cousins had been bad people, you had a dagger and a bit of material around your wrist and that's all there fucking was left of your family.

 

"It is holy. I'm keeping it," you said simply.

 

He gave you a look like you gained an extra head. As if 'holy' mattered a fucking god damn inch, if he wasn't so amused by the request, he wouldn't have granted it. He wagered a guard with an uzi over a young woman and her dagger, it seemed. You were just an absolute novelty to Negan, and it's probably why you were getting away so much. It probably wouldn't last. It never fucking does. He assigned you a guy by the name of Simon, and led you to a small house that already housed two people and would shoehorn you into the third room. They had space, of course, but you had yet to earn it, apparently.

 

And you had already made it obvious that you didn't plan to stick around. Negan thought it was cute that you thought you had a choice in the matter. He left you at the door, and you'd attracted all sorts of attention being personally walked by the leader of the sanctuary, but did not speak a word to anyone. Inside the quaint home was a black man who had eyes that glittered like dangerous jewels, and a younger white male who had shaved one side of his head to reveal a deep scar. Nobody made an effort to speak, and you certainly didn't plan to make friends here. Simon seemed like an asshole, and his mustache was stupid - you thought petulantly. He was probably what pornstars in the 80s looked like. He seemed, somehow, more abrasive than Negan but certainly less prone to moodswings and just seemed constantly grumpy if the look on his face was anything to go by.

 

"If I have to put up with you having a face like a slapped arse, at least do your guard duty outside, it's weird with you watching me sleep," you snapped.

 

Simon glared.

 

"You don't give me orders shitbird," he all but hissed.

 

You resisted every urge to throw your boots at him as you took them off, looking into the small room with barely contained excitement. The situation was shitty, sure, and the bed didn't even have a frame, but it was an actual bed, with a blanket! Gods, since you left the Lake House, it felt like so long since you'd been in a real honest-to-God bed. You fell face down into the mattress, the social interactions having drained you utterly. Normally, you struggled to sleep, but you'd been tracking these assholes for so long that the bed looked like heaven right then and there. Not even the uncomfortableness of feeling your scabbard jut into your side or you being in your grimy clothes could stop you from falling asleep before your head hit the pillow.

 

The dreams were not peaceful, however. They were fraught with anxiety and your body had long gotten used to waking you up by the hour from all the times you camped in the woods with nobody to rotate a night watch with. The coollness of the night reminded you that you weren't in the searing Louisiana heat, and for a brief, silly, stupid, irrational second: you felt safe. The feeling dissipated in  the morning, when Simon woke you up by pulling the sheet off your body and dragging you by your meagre excuse for a top, before proceeding to glance down it despite the fact it was largely transparent anyway.

 

"Negan wants you," he said.

 

For someone with such a big community, he sure did have a lot of time to waste. You winced at the rays of dawn sun peeking in - it had been a while since you didn't have to worry about rotters sneaking up on you in your sleep, and even with your constant waking, you gradually did it with larger space in between and had something close to a good sleep. It hurt to have to be awake, and you could swear that Simon guy was enjoying this.

 

He barely gave you time to put your boots on before you took the sledgehammer that he'd rested against the wall, affixing it to your back which no longer groaned and suffered under the weight, but now rippled with muscle. You looked at the sheets and saw that you dirtied them in an instant with how filthy you were, but didn't have time to dwell. Who...Negan...? Oh, yeah. Batshit Old Guy with Barb Bat, but why...? You tiredly wracked your mind before you remembered him saying something about earning your keep before he saw you off.

 

Simon was leading you to one of Negan's many homes while you remained lost in thought, glaring at the ground and hating the sun for coming up and ruining your sleep. Somehow, whatever Negan had in store for you just did not brook any fear inside of you, not as much as the man himself. It was like something dreadful was constantly baring down on you from the darkness but you refused to be anything but absolutely ready to face it.

 

The house was immaculate, though nothing too fancy, by end of the world standards, it may as well have been the Ritz. You were led to a front room which had a roaring fireplace, crackling in the morning silence, broken only by the sound of a single, lonely bird. It had been a long time since you'd heard a morning bird, holy fucking shit. You could have almost cried. It was always the stupid shit like this that reminded you of the time before The Rising - well, that's what your community had called it.

 

Your feet had carried you to the window first as Simon left you in the room and stood outside. Your fingers brushed up against the blinds and pried them open, letting a little more morning ray in, in hopes of seeing the bird, but it long since flew away. You let it go, a soft ragged breathe leaving you as you turned to the crackling fireplace, which was like something out of a dream at this point. In front of the fire place were two plush chairs, and walking to it, you could finally see a head of slicked back, black hair sitting in one.

 

It was him.

 

"Take a seat," said Negan.

 

There was a coffee table between you, and on it, some... oh my Gods...were those sandwiches? Holy fucking shit. So much for the 'last freebie' - but you looked at Negan before daring to take one, and remembered the altercation you'd had last night, before clearing your throat and beginning awkwardly.

 

"Sir, may I?" you had been used to calling older men that, even in your community, because in England, that's how you were raised, even in the most ghetto of schools. Older men were Sir, and women were Ms. Negan seemed heavily amused that you were sticking with what he'd joked over the day prior, but however awkward you felt, it just sounded so natural out of your mouth, and silently reinforced the generational gap between you. He had to be in his early 40s or something, right?

 

"Well when you look at me like that, I can't say no," he said in a false sort of sweet tone, but nonetheless, pushed the plate of finger sandwiches. It was jam! A childish sort of grin came over you before you could stop it, breaking the hollowness that had overcome you since you had lost your mother, a tangy taste of homemade peach jam filling you. Holy shit. They had jam! You tried to wipe it off and remain aloof before Negan noticed, but his eyes were trained on your every feature, so it was pointless to try. He seemed amused by it. You amused him often, it seemed.

 

"You and me, we're going to talk properly now you've had a day of rest under you," he said. It was too considerate - way too considerate for the man who had been so cold with you, knowing the attachment he had destroyed when his Lucille bludgeoned your mother. Undead or not. You didn't say anything, glancing up from the sandwich in your fingers cautiously, like a wary animal trying to devour it's hunted prey before a bigger predator came.

 

"I want to know about your group, and how you came to survive," though it didn't seem like he was asking, and his tone belied something horrible would happen if you didn't. It was now that you noticed the broken man from the day prior - Rick? Standing defeatedly behind Negan's chair while the two of you sat down. You almost wanted to get up and offer him the seat, but you knew it'd piss off the man. You didn't even notice Rick come in, or maybe he'd always been there, and just stood in shadows for a while.

 

"Scratch that, I **need** to know, I need to know if and what trouble you're bringin' to my door, and if you're worth keepin' - this group. My Saviors. We don't take in liabilities. Now, you come off as anything but, but I pride myself on doin' my homework," he cracked a grin, like he told a joke, and he probably did, but it wasn't one that you could understand. "And I want to know you inside and out before I waste anymore resources on you."

 

Well, that was blunt. Suddenly, his sweet tone seemed even more false. His pragmatism was sensible, but he was so entirely cold about it despite how charming the psychopath tried to come off.

 

You swallowed the sandwich and placed your hands on your knees, fingers digging into the denim. You wanted to say you didn't need 'taking in' and planned to leave, but again, pissing off Negan was not in your best interests. Maybe explaining things would make him see ration and reason?

 

"Four years ago I crossed into Seattle when it happened. The Rising - I mean," Negan cocked a brow at the term but thankfully didn't interrupt. "Holiday gone wrong, we holed up in an airport and eventually we got the same radio everyone else did, that Atlanta was the last holdout, because our side of the country fell faster than any other I guess. The furthest it got us was New Orleans, Louisiana - which was also the last safe place we could land. By the time we got there, everyone in the control tower had turned,"

 

He leaned back and spread his knees out, slouching comfortably on the chair, before bringing up a cup of water to his lips, licking them and listening with an intense scruitiny.

 

"Me and the survivors washed up in the largest survivor outpost in Louisiana after we got to New Orleans. I was in the bayou for four years before I left, now they're following me, simple as that," shrugging, and of course, you were missing a lot out, but he wasn't having that. Not at all. You were not comfortable with mapping out your past, not only had it been a while since you had normal interaction but you were still absolutely raw from it all. It wasn't something you just sit down and hash out, not with strangers and especially not assholes like Negan. Your brain was desperately trying to figure out a way of making this easier, because you sure as hell weren't about to bare your heart to this guy.

 

Negan put a hand to his face, resting on it all too casually, waiting for you to fill in the gaps, or say more, when it became apparant you weren't, he resumed the interview by questioning you. Ah, Louisiana, no wonder he didn't have information on you, that made him feel better - you were an out of state wildcard and not someone who simply fell through Savior cracks. Good.

 

"Why'd you leave?"

 

You tensed visibly. Shit. How much did you have to tell this guy?

 

"Same reason anyone leaves, it weren't safe no more," you answered while simultaneously avoiding the question. Negan narrowed his stare at you, noticing how the temperature in the room seemed to drop and the grim demeanour come over you, which had been broken ever so briefly by the sandwiches merely to return with a vengeance. You walled yourself off, treating him with even more caution than before. You were at an impasse. He wanted more information, and you didn't want to give him more - not about you, anyway. Impersonal data, you took less umbridge with.

 

"And how many of these backwater bayou folk are there, would you say?"

 

You shrugged a little "-I don't know exact numbers, shit changes, but a hundred were battle ready when I left, not counting nursing women and kids,". If this unnerved Negan, he didn't show it, but the numbers definitely dwarfed his, at least, until he accrued the allies he subjugated, and he most definitely had more guns, he could be sure of that just from the fact they now had their own sort of munitions factory finally set up.

 

"And now the million dollar question - why waste all this time on you? To follow you out of state?"

 

You flinched, and looked away from him awkwardly. "Honestly, I thought they wouldn't bother, your guess is a good as mine," and that was the truth, just not all of it. You weren't telling him a lot, and he could tell, but you gave him what he needed, at least, and most importantly - you did not lie. Negan hated liars.

 

"And your name?" he thought he'd try his luck, and was merely met with the same monotone from earlier.

 

"Deadshot," you said quietly.

 

 Negan was giving you an inscruitable sort of look, finger running up the hilt of Lucille in idle thought, paying no mind to the fact your eyes hung onto the movements of his fingers. Despite not knowing the man very well at all, you felt like you knew his type. The kind of leader that kept people on their toes by random lighting fire beneath them, you were keenly aware of the fact that you were something of a novelty, and could recognise being treated as such. As soon as that stopped, this 'Negan' could probably be a whole lot worse. As though reading your thoughts, he took that moment to flip the switch, annoyance suddenly seeping onto his features just as suddenly as the easy smiles had.

 

"I really dont appreciate people witholding the truth from me, that's still a lie, y'know?" he said casually. A cold lump settled in the pit of your stomach as the man looked at you, a mixture of displeased and annoyed. It was enough to make you stop eating, and just like that, the air had gotten palpably thick. You were going to ask what he was going to do, but that would have belied fear, and one of the things you had learned from your time in the bayou, was not to give an inch, or people like that would take a mile. Once they found a weak spot, they would exploit it. That was just how humans had become, since The Rising. Or maybe we were always like that, and the end simply brought out the worst in us.

 

"So, what now?" was the most passable way you could think of asking, which also told him that you weren't going to say any more to him if you could help it. The way Negan was looking at you, you couldn't predict a single thing he was going to do - was he going to let his men take turns? Was it torture? After your time in the bayou, you were hard pressed to find much that could make you talk. Maybe he'd start taking limbs? But if that was the case, he'd have already hurt you, not gone out of his way to get you back to his camp. He seems to think you're useful, and he's pragmatic to a fault, so currently he was probably weighing up how much your secrets were worth compared to your potential usefulness.

 

He had already decided he was going to find out everything about you, so really, it was a matter of time - but Negan was not content with letting the amount of lip you'd given him go unremarked upon. Simultaneously, it was something he had enjoyed, or he really would have nipped it in the bud. You really did leave him in an annoying position. He caught you glancing at Rick in silent curiosity - before smiling widely. Why leave the hard stuff to him, when he had someone ready and able to do the explaining for him? Especially as he couldn't think of a way to discipline you in a way that didn't compromise how useful you'd be to him in the future.

 

"Rick," he said suddenly, making the man pay attention to him.

 

"You're going to teach our new friend about the way we do things here," _'and why it's in her best interest not to keep trying to undermine me even by something so little as witholding the truth'_ \- that was Negan's silent implication, and he knew that on a visceral level, Rick understood that.

 

"Bein' that I can't trust you in Alexandria, and our new friend here is a hot commodity, you're both going to be babysat by daddy," he said simply. You almost balked at his choice of wording, but Rick didn't react - did Negan seriously just call himself that...? You had an expression like someone had taken a hot steaming shit in your cereal, and it took all of Negan's power not to laugh at you again. "You two are real pains in my ass, you know that?"

 

You decided to risk it, and say it again.

 

"Or you could just let me pass through,"

 

Negan scoffed, not even dignifying that with the same answer. If it's one thing he hated besides liars, it was repeating himself. Rick flashed you a warning look, and upon gazing at the man, there was a familiar sort of brokenness about him, like staring into a circus mirror. Everyone in the apocalypse had been through some shit, but this guy had probably been through a bit more than most, just from the looks of it.

 

"Not happening darlin' so do me a favour and stop askin' - before we start wrapping this up, you need to tell me how you took down one of my trucks, I can't have that happening again," he said shortly.

 

You shrugged again a lot of that had been luck to be honest. You navigating through the wilds of Virginia blindly following tire tracks and hocking your mother along for the ride didn't exactly make you the fastest duo, so it was a fair question at any rate.

 

"Luck mostly. I just planned to follow the tire tracks to wherever the truck was heading, I didn't expect to catch it in the middle of the road. It stopped because of a small herd from all the noise it was making, and got some guts stuck on the underside. I don't know, the rotters managed to break it down. All I did was slash the tires after your boy got it cleaned up and started moving. I gathered more rotters when he realised his truck tire was completely gone. Led 'em with mum, figured I'd need him to waste some of his bullets on them while I tried to sneak into the truck so I could take him out when he got back in. He saw me and.... well, you sort of know the rest. I was just going to knock him out and leave him in the road. I wasn't going to kill him unless I had to,"

 

He had almost taken down your mother, whom you had briefly released from your clothe grip to try and sneak into the vehicle when he stopped the truck, and you'd just seen red, but Negan didn't know that.

 

Negan was staring at you, before leaning forward on his knees and looking at you in such a way that you're surprised your skin didn't peel under the very sudden intensity.

 

"And you've just been walking with the dead for weeks?" he said, a hint of skepticism in his tone.

 

"Months," you corrected - you'd been doing it long before you holed up in the lake house, and just like that, he twisted the conversation right back around to the beginning again, like a dog with a bone, unwilling to let it go. If he was impressed, he was choosing not to show it, and your uncertainty regarding his emotions was clearly putting you on edge.

 

"Yeah you fuckin' smell like it. Rick, get her to the communals after you've shown her around. Someone will get you when we find you something to do, the way I see it, after yesterday, your points are in the negative. Meals to make up for, sweetheart," the shit! He offered them to begin with and now he was roping you into his weird little bartering community! You resisted the urge to show your visible annoyance because it would be ungrateful, and in truth you had expected so much worse from him that this was almost a pleasant surprise.

 

"Your people must be real fucked for you to walk across the state line with your dead momma in a herd just to get away from them,"

 

He was pressing you, again, but the reminder of his actions just washed over you like a cold crash of ocean water, only for his smile to turn positively nasty. There was really no way to tell what kind of approach he was going to take, it was like he flipped mid conversation. You comforted yourself with the idea that the man didn't actually know anything about you and that was why he had such a hair up his ass, so in a way, you had some sort of leverage - how ever little it was.

 

".... Don't say I didn't warn you," was all you said, reminding of your insistence that he didn't want to keep you there, and that it simply was not in his best interests. You saw the flash of irritation in his face, despising the casual threat.  "You and your allies are the little pigs. They're the big bad wolves,"

 

In that moment, Negan made a choice.

 

"Rick, get her to Dr Carson for a physical and then the communals. I'm not having her die of some retarded shit like an infection, I plan to get good use out of her. In fact," he paused, having an idea "-any trouble from her, and it's your ass on the line, we clear?"

 

Rick gave you an inscrutable look, before nodding at the older man.

 

"Crystal."

 

"And if I'm not any use to you, sir?" you dared to raise the question, despite having an idea of the answer, but the man didn't give you a direct answer, instead, he was chilling in the way that he chose to avoid doing so. 

 

"You better hope that's the not the case sweetheart," he glanced at a wall clock, the only working clock in the entire joint, and of course, Negan would be the one who owned it. The man stood up, raising himself to full impressive height. It was now that you took him in properly, he was narrow at the hips and broad in the chest - even through the leather, which seemed like it had caked itself onto his skin, you could tell he was strong. You weren't the only one to come out harder since the end of days, but he was probably like this since before The Rising, it looked like his body had that kind of discipline about it.

 

"Now see, one thing you will learn about me," he walked up to you, who was still seated, putting his waist in your face as he lorded over you, dwarfing you in his shadow. "Is that I don't do gambles. I do investments," he looked down at you until you met his stare.  "You're an investment. Let me make somethin' abso-lutely fuckin' clear, cos I'm only gonna say this once,"

 

"Do not mistake the fact you get a bed for fuckin' kindness, or me puttin' up with your fuckin' lip to mean you can go round takin' liberties cos that's a fast way to losin' something pretty - and God, I would just hate for that," your body went stiff as you felt his cold, meaty fingers grabbing you under your chin firmly.  "That'd be such a fuckin' waste, and I ain't one for wasting, so know when to quit girlie. I don't care what you're doin' or where you wash up or what time you finish assigned duty or which fuckin' camp I'm collecting at, you drag your little ass over to me. You report to me at the end of the day. Got it?"

 

He expected you to assume the worst, and you were, but the fact you weren't showing it - not reflecting that fear that he saw in women and girls at the end of days. He wouldn't have hurt you, of course, he had a strict rule against people forcing themselves on women, but you didn't know that, and he knew you didn't - so he expected something. Anything, really - and when he was met with a hollow, glassy-eyed sort of stare back, he let go of your chin suddenly, jerking your head to the left slightly as he did so, visible irritation on his face.

 

"For fuck's sake girlie, at least cry or some shit!" it was almost like he snapped at you, but his tone sounded like it was bizarrely impressed. That cold feeling in your gut hadn't budged, you remained rigid, going out of your way to maintain an eery calmness. It reminded him of Carl - children of the apocalypse - but... something different about you, strange and broken long before you'd got to the Saviors, which left Negan with no real "house breaking" to do.

 

"Whatever you're going to do, you're going to do anyway," there was no defeat in the resignedness of your words, but there was a grim sort of acceptance "You could hurt me, or maim me when I'm not useful, or kill me, I guess, it wouldn't be any worse than if I'd stayed in the bayou," you sighed.  "What else is left? I got nothing to lose. I figured that shit out four years ago at the the start of The Rising."

 

"Civilians don't get guns in England, your second amendment loving asses had enough supplies for all out war in just your average joe population and America still fell. In the airport, we got world news before the major outages and the emergancy stations fell. The last country that managed to hold out for the longest was Israel and they're probably gone by now too. The way I figure it, I lost everything years ago and all I've got left to do is wander lost around your fucking wasteland of a country and just live day to day cos there's no way I'm getting closure about my family back home, any bloody time this century. If you're going to do something to me, it doesn't matter. I ran out of things to lose. I don't care," you said, a flatness coming to your tone as you looked up at Negan with a strange sort of glistening in your eyes. "I really don't care."

 

You glanced at Lucille, and then back up at him.

 

"You bludgeoned the last thing I gave a damn about, and she'd already died long before you did that,"

 

Negan was silent, before letting out a long appreciative whistle. He could detact a sort of unhinged nature about you - and he knew more than most that the person with nothing left to lose was often the most dangerous. He looked into your eyes, and could believe that you believed in every word that left your lips. Not knowing how else to react, he just started to chuckle at you. You glanced between him and then searchingly at Rick, wondering if the man's expression could somehow explain what Negan was laughing about, but it betrayed nothing. Rick was just staring at you in a quiet but calculating manner, you could almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

 

"What in the fuck?" he chuckled, shaking his head to himself and essentially dismissing the conversation. "You are so fucked in the head. So fucked. You're going to fit in here, I just know it. Go on, Rick, get her out of my sight, I got shit to do,"

 

Just like that, it was all over - and Negan, he...

 

He hadn't harmed a hair on your head.

 

* * *

 

 

It was just you, and Rick Grimes, and you'd be lying if you said there was nothing good coming from being dragged to Negan's camp. There was definite upsides to living here, they had strength, supplies, good walls, but for you - they knew the lay of the land. You hadn't been in the company of Americans since you left your last community, and it was strangely comforting to be in the company of people who at least felt like they had some sense of direction and familiarity with the land, even if in truth, everyone was equally lost.

 

The second Negan was out of sight, Rick had tried to ask you about your people, but honestly - if there was any kind of God, and any kind of good luck out there, then they would give up, and wouldn't bother with you now that you were with the Saviors.

 

You told him as much.

 

"If the Saviors are the worst thing that you've run into Mr Grimes, then count yourself lucky," you said flatly. He gave you a look when you called him that, it seemed manners had long been forgotten in the end of days and it had been a long, long time since he'd been afforded such a traditional kind of respect that if he had the strength to laugh, he would have. The fact that you said this, even after Rick's first words alone to you were to "Not underestimate Negan, just do what he says," - and how he took out two of his people just to prove a point, would have seemed insulting in how blasé you were. But one look at your face told the older man that you believed this with all of your heart, and any notion of finding this other, bigger group and taking down the Saviors (which had been all he thought about since you mentioned a community) as allies slowly dimmed.

 

"Just Rick. It's...just Rick."

 

 


	3. Pulling Teeth

 

There was more than simply you being awkward to your reluctance not to talk about the bayou society, because the Saviors might try something stupid and brave, like try to launch a march out of state, because there was something worth doing it for – it’s why you were being tracked. Upon seeing Rick Grimes’ barely withheld contempt for Negan, any notion of sharing it with him or anyone else for that matter had gone.

 

He didn’t talk much, this ‘Rick Grimes’ person – and frankly, you didn’t know if he was any better, or any worse than Simon was.

 

He led you to Dr Carson in near silence, whether he was happy babysitting, he didn’t say, but there was some relief not being around Negan, for however much that was worth. Harlan Carson was brought down from the Hilltop base because some of Negan’s men had been injured on scavenging runs, so he was spread a little thin, but had finished the last person he’d patched up.

 

There was a bed in Carson’s little unofficial nursing block, with a grey mattress sheet stretched over a table which had been rigged into an operating desk. On the left was a small metallic box that was probably once lined with foil and used to cook bread in an oven, it looked like one you’d had back home. Inside were small splashes of maroon and bits of stained metal beside a pair of crude pliers.

 

Bullets, you realised. Probably extracted from open-fire.

 

“Ah yeah, I was told you need a physical,” said Dr Carson. He was an unassuming sort of man, which made you relax. You noticed him trying to get a better look at your body through the transparent mesh netting of the baseball shirt. You glanced at Rick, who was still there, and detached the sledgehammer from your back, handing it to him by the hilt. He took out one hand before quickly bringing over the other, not expecting it to be quite so heavy. He gave you a silent, questioning look, as surprised as Negan had been earlier, but didn’t say anything.

 

“Get up on the table and take off your shirt, shoes and pants,” Dr Carson said bluntly, before glancing at Rick. “Do you want him out the room?”

 

You gazed up at Dr Carson, surprised, before just shrugging and looking at the other man. You were going to be stripped near strangers anyway and it was not the first time. This was extremely vanilla to you and didn’t even register as a privacy concern. It seemed kind of silly, really.

 

“I can go,” said Rick, getting up with the sledgehammer in his left hand.

 

Glancing between the dishevelled man and the doctor, you felt a slight uncomfortableness at the idea of being left alone with Dr Carson – who was probably as nice as people in this camp got – but you wanted to keep an eye on your weapon.

 

“I uh, I don’t really like doctors, I didn’t…I wasn’t really comfortable with them before The Rising and I don’t know if that’s changed. Ah -no offence, Doctor,” you added hurriedly. Surprised at the accent he was greeted with and realising that typically, Negan had excluded much in the way of detail, Carson was too surprised to be much insulted.

 

“So, can he stay? If…that’s…. not too strange,” you added as an afterthought, considering you didn’t really know Rick at all. Rick was surprised too, but it was in that moment that he was reminded you were only a few years older than Carl, only, unlike Carl, you didn’t have the benefit of having parents or adult figures that you knew to look out for you and you were plonked into the middle of the Saviors. The lion’s den.

 

“I don’t mind,” said Rick slowly, giving you a strange look. He understood though, on some visceral level, and sat down near the table. Of course – he rationalised – you were probably scared shitless and not showing it.

 

“I suppose you can make yourself useful,” added Carson as an afterthought. “Off,” he reminded you gently.

 

You nodded, slowly peeling off the netted shirt, which had an almost uncomfortable slickness to it as it stuck to your skin. The denim was worse. It was absolutely thick was blood and it became quickly apparent to Dr Carson that it was not going to come off very easily as you’d almost stuck to the thing.  He watched for a moment as you struggled with it once you got the zip down. Rick was glancing off to the left, because he could still afford you some decency.

 

It was after a few minutes with nothing but the sound of struggling jean material that Dr Carson found himself quietly asking if you needed help. Rick kept his stare averted as you mumbled a quiet affirmative – letting the doctor put his fingers inside the front of your trousers and pulled them down in a swift, strong motion. What he didn’t expect, was the sharp gasp that followed, and a gargled noise of pain. Like he’d just slapped you with something sharp. Your eyes went flush and warm, feeling the material around your ankles.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Dr Carson asked with a frown. He looked over at you, and saw your body under the dim light. He frowned, and got you up on the table.

He was looking you over, and very suddenly, called for Rick’s attention.

 

 

“Bring a candle over here, I need a better look.”

 

Rick got up, putting the sledgehammer against the wall and griped for a small candle on a plate at the side of the extracted bullets, bringing it over to the table. It was now that he was forced to look at you.

 

“You’re bleeding, that’s going to need cleaning,” said Dr Carson, motioning for Rick to hold the candle over your left knee where you had begun to bleed, lighting up your tanned skin and bringing all of the flaws out to the very surface for scrutinising in the presence of these two men.

 

Rick wondered how you could possibly be comfortable.

 

“You scabbed at the knee and it must have joined with your clothes. I must have ripped it open, sorry,” said Dr Carson.

 

You sat on the table in discoloured blue bra and black, clearly worn out and ripped underwear. The clothes stank, and it became apparent you would need something new to wear.

 

“Your clothes will need to be washed before you put them on again to prevent the spread of infection,” you noticed Dr Carson frowning, before getting out a small brown book and asking your name. You didn’t provide it, so he simply called you “#12” in his book and started scribbling some things down.

 

“Oh dear,” said Dr Carson finally, Rick looked at him curiously. “Oh dear,” he repeated, before making you lay on your back and telling him to run the candle down the length of you. It was strangely intimate, but your face betrayed no discomfort.

 

Rick was looking at you now unashamedly, but there was nothing ill about his intent, you could see the curiosity and the dark-eyed confusion as Dr Carson began to scribble more frantically, muttering numbers under his breathe.

 

“Now lay on your stomach.” You did so, feeling the warmth of the candle going down delicately across your torso.

He did, for the third time, say ‘Oh dear’ – which finally prompted a response from you, as you hadn’t said anything since Carson had yanked down your trousers and left you near naked.

 

“Doctor?” you said, slightly worried yourself.

 

He cleared his throat, glancing at Rick, and then at your body, before telling you could lay back on your front.

 

“That’s a lot of cuts to have on your body, young lady. Some are an inch in diameter across from your hip, but most are very small, strange in their sizing. I’d say purposeful except they’re across your back too, what happened?” said Dr Carson “-did you have an accident?”

 

You shrugged lamely, and just said “Glass,” – not elaborating further, before glancing at the bloody pliers.  “I think I was able to get most of it and it was a while ago. I don’t think you have anything to pull out,”

 

Carson put down the notebook and turned to his medical cabinet, looking for the chloroform. When he couldn’t find any left, he sighed, and took out the antiseptic rubbing alcohol. He grimaced at you, a kindness in his eyes that you were not used to seeing directed at you from anyone in a long, long time.

 

“This is going to hurt terribly,” he said bluntly.

 

You looked at him, and then Rick – as though either of them could somehow prevent what was painful but necessary, before Dr Carson got out a small bit of wood from a drawer, and put it under your nose.

 

“Bite this.”

 

No sooner had he said it, the pain began.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By God, the pain seared through your skin as you felt Carson rubbed hydrogen peroxide all over your body, making your knees jut up. You suddenly felt a pair of warm hands around your naked ankles to stop you kicking - you dully registered it was Rick as you started to kick. You felt your saliva dripping all over the hardwood that had been shoved into your face. You weren't sure how you didn't feel teeth crack from the force you were biting into it.

 

" - some minor infection - it's why it hurts so much - it'll be over soon,"

 

You barely registered his words, all you could hear was your own muffled screams as you writhed against the table, feeling Carson swat your hands away as he ended up using the entire bottle. You wished you weren't such a baby about it, but it really, really hurt. You did hear the sound of clinking - and in fact, Carson had managed to find some embedded glass you missed, pulling it out from the back of your shoulder where it had almost gone the whole way in, dumping it by the discarded bloodied rounds.

 

"Your suturing skills could do with some work," said Carson with a worn out sort of smile when it ended, and all you could feel were mild burns going through your body. You were panting and the bit of wood was removed from your lips, skin aflush under the pairs gaze as Rick let your ankles go.

 

He gestured to your left arm and you smiled weakly at him - this was the kindest you'd been treated in a while, to be honest. "How did you manage this? Doesn't look like any kind of a bite,"

 

"I got into a lot of scrapes," you said lamely.

 

Dr Carson cocked an eyebrow at you, wiping his hands with a rag before the door swung open abruptly. You slowly sat up, frowning when you saw Dwight in the doorway, staring gormlessly at you for a moment. You noticed a dark brown bag in his arms, and folded your arms underneath your chest with a withering stare directed at him.

 

"Hey, that's my stuff you guys took!"

 

Dwight didn't say anything, instead, opting to throw it crudely at your feet instead of hand it over - very mature of him. "Negan said you'd need it," was all he said. With a nod from Dr Carson, you bent over and picked up the bag, feeling Dwight still standing there, out of all the males in the room, he was the least welcome and you turned to face him.

 

"Well? Is that everything? Or are you just going to stand there?" you snapped, making Dwight scowl, before turning to leave. It was then that you realised that Rick and Dr Carson were naturally following suit. It took you a moment to understand why, before you realised you had to change out of everything, digging out the only other change of clothes you had in the bag. Most of what was in there were things like feminine care supplies, paracetamol, coffee grounds and a hard pack of ramen noodles that weren't going to expire until about 2020. You scowled as you noticed the food was gone, peeling into a pair of blue underwear and a simple, but comfortable little push up. It was about all you found in the lake house that actually fit, the stuff that must have belonged to the woman of the house could fit your head in one cup. This was in the back of a closet and probably belonged to her daughter or something and a moldy old cream tank top that had long since turned grey.

 

Digging around further, you paused - before letting out a long, put-out noise. You opened the set of double doors and glanced up at the doctor first, reattaching the kirpan to your hip. It took him a moment to notice you didn't actually have anything on your legs still.

 

"I don't have trousers," you said flatly.

 

Turns out, you weren't done being a pain in the ass. It was Rick that actually had a suggestion - since Dr Carson wasn't about to go and find Dwight or whoever was in charge of the stockroom to try to find you clothes, it was often more of a pain than it needed to be, and, he helpfully reminded - your points were in the negative.

 

"I need points for clothes?" you said skeptically.

 

"For fresh clean ones yes, you need points for most things in the stockroom," said Dr Carson apologetically.

 

You stared in abject disbelief.

 

"I need trousers, I'll bloody well catch my death out walking around with my arse hanging out," you said, the man held his hands up helplessly, which was why Rick piped up, because this was admittedly, quite awkward for everyone involved.

 

"You're only a bit shorter than my boy, Carl. I can head back to the house and get something," apparently, Negan taking a shine to Carl was enough to keep him out of Hilltop and Alexandria in favour of staying at the main base, which, at least, was closer to Rick. It left you alone with Dr Carson anyway, who spoke more fondly of the Hilltop Colony. They were good people there, he said - and that you'd run into some bad luck in having Negan keep you at the main base. Of course, the man was brimming with questions, but typically, you answered none - mostly because you knew that answering them would just raise more. You weren't trying to be awkward on purpose.

 

Rick came back with a pair of black trousers that were a little long around the legs, but with some tucking into the boots, was no longer an issue. Except now there was the issue of the fact your damn food had been taken. When you asked, you were apparently told it would go towards getting you to zero instead of -5. Screw Negan for putting you in the negatives in his messed up little economy. You wouldn't be surprised if you were being charged for the care Carson had given you.

 

"If it was my rules, I wouldn't, but we used a fair bit of supply on you, the only people who don't get charged are the people who got hurt scavaging," you glanced at the man, and shook your head. Still, it wasn't like the rules were unreasonable, but God, you were on the shitty end of things.

 

Rick took you to the communals next, you were surprised that you had hot water at least - that was...that was really rare, actually, and it was good to have something crisp to change into. You unwound the wrap of material from your hair and let it wind down your back. The sensation of hot steamy water against your wounds and the places where the hydrogen peroxide burned. Ohhh - feeling it run between your thighs and down your back and in your scalp - it didn't matter that you didn't have shampoo or conditioner or anything, you finally felt clean - everywhere. You felt your muscles almost singing under the heat.

 

The communals were gender seperate, but thankfully empty, and each had a divide with a small door between each cubicle. You only wished you at least had soap, when was the last time you were afforded that kind of a luxury? That was probably also something you could get with points, you wouldn't be surprised if he charged for tampons on a point by point basis too.

 

You had been with Carson for about four hours, he had to restitch a wound and do a few other things, Rick at one point, did turn his back, but it seemed you didn't contract nearly as much as you potentially could have.

 

You were then surprised, when you turned and saw an outstretched hand holding a white bar. Instinctively you grabbed it, feeling it moisten in your hands and begin to lather - like the God's answered your prayers for soap.

 

"Thanks Rick," you said - who else could it b-- wait. You made him wait outside, and it'd be strange if Rick was outside handing you soap regardless. You jumped, supporting yourself on the shower wall so you didn't trip, you griped for a weapon on instinct, but realised your kirpan was in a pile with your crisp clothes just outside the cubicle where it wouldn't get wet. You turned to the source of the hand, eyes running up a leather arm and feeling something in your stomach drop.

 

"Imagine my surprise when I manage to get my shit done, come back and find you're still with the good doctor," he said cheerfully. Oh, God. It was Negan, and he didn't seem to care that he was in the designated women's block. Rick told him you weren't finished, but it didn't seem to phase the man. He merely left Lucille in his care and strolled on in like he owned the place, because...well, he did. He stood in the frame of the cubicle, with only a few drops of water splattering his leather jacket. His eyes didn't leave you, instead, you just carried on washing.

 

"You wanted me to have a physical, anyway...I didn't realise repossessing my stuff and digging through my tampons would set me back to zero. If you're in the negatives, people can just take your shit here, huh?" you said with a frown, scrubbing your left elbow. It was a clear criticism, and your roundabout way of telling Negan that you weren't happy with the position that he had put you in. He merely smiled at you, taking it into stride.

 

"Lets say the soap is on the house then," tch, so much for the freebie rule, that was another time he broke it. Obviously he wanted to curry some sort of small favour with you, because you still had leverage, and he still wanted information from you. What did he want that was so bad that he couldn't wait for you to get out of the shower?

 

"You're so kind," your tone dripped with sarcasm, and it only made his smile stretch further.

 

"Do you know what we're tryna fuckin' do here?" he said.

 

You looked at him in confusion, and silently resumed soaping. What did he want? Was he going to do something untoward? If he was going to, this would be the perfect moment, you thought. He was twice your size, even with the considerable strength you now possessed. You felt like there should be a sliver of fear but after going through the act of having about ninty percent of your scarred up body get dunked in hydrogen peroxide, it was hard to have any left. If anything, you were just annoyed that he was disrupting your shower time, making no effort to stop. That was something that struck Negan as odd, not that he was complaining at all. It was just, most people would go to cover themselves, he even had a towel slung over his left shoulder for that very purpose - he wasn't a monster, after all. He was decent. Well, that was what he billed himself as anyway.

 

"We're trying to build a fuckin' community. Now, I was hoping after a little patch up, you would be a bit more forthcoming, but after talking to the good doctor, I'm told this was not the case,"

 

You gave him another look.

 

"And in my fuckin' community, we don't fuckin' keep secrets, y'know?"

 

You cleared your throat, giving the man a onceover, if he was going to hurt you, wouldn't he have done it already? You did feel vulnerable all over that he was just staring at you, and that you were sopping wet and naked, but it didn't really hit you until you could feel the water that was hitting you start to go cold. Glancing down at your cleaner, tanned skin, now free of blood, grime and dirt nestled in your muscle indentions, you rationed there wasn't much of a point to covering it up. You knew you were supposed to feel some sort of primal sense of shame, because the bottom of your ears felt like it they were going hot, even with the cold water splashing you, but nothing else betrayed it. You weren't even sure if Negan could tell if they were red, under all your hair sticking to your back and neck and the colour of your complexion.

 

"I'm sure you have plenty, sir."

 

He snorted, taking your cheek into a strange sort of stride, but your hackles were definitely up. Your mind was on nothing but the painfully small distance between yourself, Negan, and your weapon atop your clothes.

 

"Those belong to me now," he said coldly. You flinched as he very suddenly turned the shower off from the source, disappearing briefly, before reappearing in the door. He smiled, and opened up the towel in his hands. That sinking feeling returned as he opened his arms wide, holding it edge to edge, clearly waiting for you to walk into it. There were several tense moments, before you put the soap to one side and walked into the towel with a confused frown.

 

Immediately he encased your body in it, and his entire leather form was against you, pushing you into the wall.

 

"I got the impression before I left that you didn't quite understand the gravity of the fuckin' situation, so this is the only time you will hear me say it, and you know I loathe repeating myself, do you remember me saying that darlin' ?" that sensation from the truck returned, like you couldn't get enough air in. All you could do was nod, but if you did so, you'd end up touching his coat, or his neck, or something. Either way, you were entirely too close. You could feel the leather through the towel and he didn't even have you pushed up properly against the wall, because you could feel his arms around your back, joining the towel together and reminding you that you were exactly where he wanted you to be. You let out a quiet noise of assent, turning your face to the left just so they'd be more space between your face and Negan's chest, eyes glaring up from behind black strands of hair stuck to your face. Your heartbeat was quickening despite your best efforts not to be frightened, it was just the uncertainty of it all, if not for that, you might have been a lot calmer inside.

 

"Your shit is mine, that includes your sledgehammer, your fuckin' holy knife, your clothes, your shoes, and your fuckin' secrets, are we clear?"

 

You closed your eyes, feeling that instinct creep up again, that instinct that had told you not to entertain Rick's need to know about the community you came from, and how all they brought with them was trouble. Some day, you hoped, these people would understand that things you didn't tell them were often for the good of others. It could have been so much easier if Negan had let you pass through, or at least made it clear that you could work off ruining one of his trucks and then go. But no, he wanted a community of his own, and he'd made it abundantly clear that he wanted you in it, working like many of the cogs needed to sustain it.

 

"If I said no?" you gasped out, feeling Negan squeezing his arms around you and pushing himself against you harder. It hurt, and he knew it hurt because he talked to Carson when he got back, and he spent much of the time watching you shower, looking at where all your imperfections were. If he squeezed any tighter, you wouldn't be surprised if a ribcage pierced a lung - he was strong, and frighteningly so.

 

"What would you do to me?" the uncertainty reared its head, and Negan didn't know whether or not if he could call it fear, but it had to be, any one else would be shitting themselves, he was certain of it. You could feel your vision start to blur and wiggled as much as you could, before you felt your hands against his lower stomach through the towel and dug your nails through, trying to push. You were able to move your left leg a little too, raising it enough that your knee was pushing at his crotch. Your head was starting to feel light enough that you couldn't find the strength to drive your knee up with force, instead gently pushing against him in what was supposed to be a threatening manner. You wheezed a little, trying to say something and surprisingly, he loosened his grip, allowing the towel to sag too, just to see what you would do. What you were trying to say. It was in a raspy voice that couldn't manage much in the way of force or pride, but he could detect it nonetheless.

 

_"Bigger men have done so much worse,"_

 

When your arms were free enough, you put your hands against his chest and pushed as hard as you could. Expecting it, he didn't fall back nearly so much, but you easily made a gap between you once more, the towel falling at your feet as you panted desperately, trying to fill your lungs with air. Colour rushed back into your features as you shakily bent down to pick up the towel, dabbing at your hair and staring unblinkingly at Negan. Confused, perhaps, that he did not hurt you. Apparantly, getting you at your most vulnerable still didn't crack you open and that, for Negan, was not only annoying, but impressive. Most women would have cracked under the assumption that something horrible was going to happen to them, and whilst he wouldn't have actually raped you, he knew you had no way of knowing that, but still insisted on holding your ground. It was impressive, and fucking stupid.

 

It felt like there was a decade of silence between you two as you slowly put on your clothes after drying, watching as he leaned against the wall again, looking down at you from his impressive height.

 

"You're startin' to piss me off and you have barely been here a day, you know that?"

 

You didn't say anything, quietly wrapping half of your hair back up again, watching as his eyes kept trained on your well-practiced movements, like he was drinking all of you in. The burning sensation finally left your ears, at least.

 

"Why don't you just cut the shit, sweetheart? What is it that you're so afraid of will happen, if you don't tell me the God's honest fuckin' truth, huh? What's worth riskin' your life for, anyway?" he said, and honestly, he spoke to you like you were stupid. Hell, of course, it must look like that. He gave you a few moments to gather yourself, but didn't let you walk past him, sticking a hand out and putting it on your shoulder, stopping you from exiting the communal. You gave him another one of your obviously scruitinising looks, before sighing, and brushing a stray wet lock behind your ear.

 

"If you were going to hurt me, you would have done it while I was showering already," you said casually. Too casually. It bothered him. It bothered Negan a whole lot. "Anyway, you think I give half a shit? Look, sir," even when you were being flagrantly disrespectful, still with the 'sir' - it would have been enough to make him snort if he wasn't so intent on being serious in that very moment.

 

"You think you're the worst person I've run into in this shitshow? Do you?" you asked rhetorically. If Negan was honest about his answer, it would have been 'I'd hope so' - but he knew that he wasn't, he had some sort of moral fibre no matter how small it was, and did not answer, letting you continue. "Because you're not. You think you're the baddest, scariest thing out there? I know you probably think you are, I saw how people bowed at you. It was weird, but they see you like you're some kind of a symbol as much as a person, I've been here a day but I could tell that shit the moment I saw how people reacted around you,"

 

You were, perhaps, a touch smarter than Negan thought you were.

 

"But you are not, you are not the baddest, scariest thing out there, and yeah Mr G--Rick, he told me about what you did. He gave me the whole speech, and everyone I spoke to about you thinks the same. Yeah, you're pretty shitty from the sounds of it. You might even be the shittiest, nastiest, meanest guy in the state. I'll give you that. But when it comes to pure, naked evil, you're just an amateur. The less I tell you, the better it is," you glanced at him.

 

"What's that deal you have running here with your colonies anyway? Some protection racket? You try that shit south of the border, it won't work. The people I come from? The people you keep calling mine? They're..." you struggled to find a word for it, brows drawing into a frown "-if you got involved with them. They wouldn't let someone like you exist. They destroy leaders, and they take everything that they can. This weird little setup you got going here? They'll destroy it like fire through drywheat," you said shaking your head.

 

"That's your thing, isn't it? Taking half of people's shit?" you didnt get the ins and outs about his deals with other colonies but if what happened to your belongings was any clue, you were right, and Negan nodded.

 

"Yeah, so?"

 

"Then you'd probably try to take half of their shit, because believe me, I've seen this play out like what...two...three times? At least? You're all greedy. The lot of you. Your communities end up eating each other eventually, the second they come into contact with the Louisiana Bayou,"

 

Negan didn't say anything for the longest of time, before making the universal come-hither gesture. You walked over to him apprehensively, feeling his hand against the small of your back through your damp shirt. He opened the door and you saw Rick standing outside, clearly he'd tried to get in when he saw Negan thunder his way inside, and he simply locked the door behind him. It confused you, because Rick didn't exactly know you, but maybe he drew his own moral line, and Negan doing something funny to you would probably have been it. Even if he couldn't have stopped it, he'd have tried, and that...well, you didn't know how that settled with you. You still weren't sure what you thought about Rick Grimes, just that you trusted him a slight bit.

 

"Their army is big, but they won't be a Savior problem unless you make it one, so you need to tell me why you think staying here is gonna bring the heat on us. Now, we both know I ain't gonna lay a hand on you, but see that over there?" he gestured in the distance to a series of large, metal containers behind a chainlink fence as he walked you to the west of camp.

 

"Those are the boxes. You give me a hard time, you live there from now on. You stew in your own shit and piss and we decide when you get food, I don't have to lay a goddamn finger on you to hurt you, and you're a smart girl, ain't ya? You knew that,"

 

You grimaced at the thought of the box, and wondered if there were any people unfortunate enough to be in there.

 

"Any transgressions against the camp means time in the box," Negan paused "-if I'm in a good mood,"

 

Definite psycho.

 

"I'm valuable to them," you admitted reluctantly, crossing your fingers under your chest uncomfortably as the pair of you stood side by side, staring past the chainlink fence. He contemplated bringing Daryl out, for a moment, but realised he was finally getting somewhere. Pacing himself, he was realising that the honey method was working a lot better than the vinegar one, because it seemed like you had a certain sort of immunity. Yet, when you _weren't_ being hurt, that was what threw you for a loop. So Negan was going to use this to his advantage, besides, you were barely an adult, well, definitely one compared to Carl, but easily younger than every other woman on camp. "The bayou was based a short bit away from a Louisiana military facility, and when I was there with mum - when.. before she turned. There was a man there. Professor Rupert Mattius - some sort of...scientist type. And no, before you ask, he didn't have a fucking clue about the outbreak,"

 

Negan furrowed his brow.

 

"So where the fuck do you factor in?" he asked impatiently.

 

"Professor Mattius was responsible for Elbed, and he sort of...had me apprentice under him, I guess. I was in a dark place when we got from Seattle," you waved it off, he didn't need your backstory, just why the bayou might be sending trackers over the state line. You scratched the back of your arm, you'd already name dropped something important, and there's no way he'd let you get away with not explaining it anyway. "Anyway, Mattius ended up getting infected when we had our first security breach and that just left me, and um. I suppose that makes me uniquely skilled."

 

Negan, of course, jumped onto the obvious question.

 

"And what the sam fuck is an Elbed?"

 

You grimaced. This was really not what you wanted to explain to him, but glanced between the box, and Negan. Silently, wondering how much you could actually get away with before he put you in there, but after your first hot shower in months, giving it up seemed to unnecessarily cruel to yourself. Maybe.... maybe he was a man of reason - the pragmatism of his points system seemed to suggest that he was, even if he was a complete psycho, and he already swore not to physically hurt you, and he hadn't. If you could just get him to swear to one more thing...

 

"I'll tell you, but only on the condition you don't try to get it for yourself, the army is too big, you'd never win,"

 

Negan nodded impatiently, though in truth it was just to get you moving on. He had burned with so much curiosity after you arrived that it actually kept him up at night, and though he loathed to admit it, he didn't think his 80 Saviors had the raw ability to cross state lines and come back without the collapse of the fragile economy of fear he'd built up with the other colonies and he highly doubted it would be a good idea to bring them into a fight they didn't want, because the enemy could easily just sew discord in their own ranks and then boom. Saviors have no allies, Saviors are out of their home turf, and that crafty bastard of a group Rick had would probably find a way to exploit the Bayou community and then everything would go tits up. Yes, Negan would admit he was greedy, but there were more scenarios where acting on his greed turned out bad instead of good. Secondly, he only had you, a stranger's word, to even go off! He wouldn't be staking his community on it, but clearly, you were apprehensive and guarded, and did not trust his judgement one bit. Considering he'd kidnapped you - that was probably smart, Negan realised.

 

"Elbed is... well E-L-B-E-D," you sounded out each initial "Extra Long-Range Bombardment Extermination Device,"

 

Negan looked blank, that just sounded like a Gigantic Fucking Gun - but clearly it had to be more than that, especially if it was at a military base.

 

"It was being developed a little ways off from the Appalachian mountains, it was supposed to the US's answer to the Paris Gun, or that big old thing they were apparantly trying to build in Iraq before The Rising, that's what the Professor said, anyway," you shrugged.

 

Negan was a smart man, a very smart man, but he'd be lying if he said he knew what in the fuck 'the Paris Gun' even was, and said as much.

 

"The Germans built it to bombard Paris in World War I, it's basically a big...big fucking gun. Like, really big. Bigger than a turret. Needs its own rail system to move. The base had one, and the Professor was working on it. It could decimate a herd from four thousand metres and was in development for a while. Maybe in case of a bio-weapon or maybe...they knew the world would go to hell, or fuck, maybe it was the US just swinging its dick again, I don't know," you griped. 

 

"And...you're the only fuckin' living person left that can operate it?" said Negan slowly.

 

"Well....yeah," you said lamely "They also had 30mm autocannons with recoil that can shatter the bones in your body. A lot of the stuff isn't supposed to be manned by people, it's all machines and complicated shit that the Professor taught me,"

 

The man stuck his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his heels in a rather flamboyant sort of manner. He was an odd duck, to be sure, but dangerous all the same. Rick was a little ways behind, dragging Lucille, but having heard pretty much the whole thing.

 

"We couldn't make use of it unless we expanded anyway," Negan glanced at you "-At this moment, that would be fuckin' retarded. We have a good thing goin' - but I'm gonna assume since it's a big old bastard, we don't have to worry about them moving it north of the border,"

 

You nodded - but that didn't mean they didn't have general firepower, but Negan dismissed it. He turned to you, before taking Lucille from Rick's grip and walking you away from the boxes. It was then that Rick spoke up.

 

"What about Daryl?"

 

That seemed to be enough to set Negan off again, after you'd already contented him with knowledge he'd been pining for, he raised the bat to point at Rick, glaring at him in agitation.

 

"What the fuck about him, Rick? That ain't no concern of yours,"

 

You watched as the anger flashed in his broken eyes, the way his lip curled like he wanted to snarl and yet, he ducked his head down anyway, falling silent once more as Negan smiled contentedly once more, as if to say "yeah, that's what I thought."

 

* * *

 

 

_'What the fuck is wrong with you, kid? You can't keep a lid on it for a day?  Are you that chickenshit or did losing your mum really do you in that hard? You were dragging that dead bitch around for weeks, Negan was doing you a favour by fucking killing it and you know it. You spoke to it. Like it was still alive, but you call him the psycho, right?'  
_

 

Your duty for the day was packing bullets, and considering your expertise, the woman who managed the armoury for the day, Linda, was quite happy that she didn't have to tell you too much or really talk to you all that much. It seemed she was one of the people you had jumped ahead of in the breadline, so she wasn't about to start being your friend.

 

' _You think that just because he isn't as bad as Evelyn that you can fucking take him? You remember the last time you humoured your hubris, you arrogant bitch? Oh big deal, he hasn't tortured you, what a fucking saint he is. God, what makes you think he'll keep his promise about ELBED hm? You couldn't sleep in a fucking box for a few days you just HAD to tell him? Watch this goes tits up. It'll go tits up and it'll be your stupid, stupid fault... just like it always is.'_ The mindless activity was leaving you with your own anxious thoughts for too long.

 

Linda had some protective gloves on, but typically, did not offer you any of your own, so your fingers were already getting dirty, messing with the primer, powder and actual bullet casing. Linda taught you how to use the hand priming tool properly, but that was the extent of it. In truth, you weren't used to making bullets this small, they were just 9mm, but at least you were working up some of those damn points.

 

' _Do you think you're safe here? Anywhere?  Just because the Saviors aren't as bad as the worst doesn't make them good people you stupid fuck. The second you aren't useful, you're disposable. Just wait until you stop being a novelty. See what happens.'_

 

You found yourself working tirelessly for hours, wondering when the work day actually ended. You were sure the sun was setting by now, but you'd burned a lot of time measuring the amount of gunpowder per casing, the last time you didn't, back in the bayou, someone nearly blew off a hand. You learned that day that more doesn't necessarily equate to good. Still, it was impressive that they even had their own munitions factory, but from the looks of things, it was just starting up. The powder wasn't exactly premium grade either, but they had a brain box apparently, some guy called Eugene, who for some fucking reason, knew the theory on bullets anyway. Negan had Hilltop guys caving and searching for reserves of shit from certain animals - literally shit - to mix with charcoal and whatever else it was that went into raw powder. You'd long forgotten.

 

But Hell, it just made you want gloves even more. Animal shit powder wasn't something you really wanted under your nails.

 

You wondered when it'd be all over, so you could report to that asshole, Negan, or if he'd simply come for you again.

 

"You should really be wearing gloves."

 

That answered that.

 


	4. A Day in the Life

 

You didn't know whether to be a little disgusted or not when the place that Negan led you to would be the place where he kept his women, his own self-styled harem. Of course, why not? When you redefine society, the social order and the rules by which it's ran, why not make a farm of foxy ladies to get your dick wet with a different flavour each week? Looking at them, they all seemed rather immaculate, like the world hadn't ended, in various forms of dark, silk dress, not at all practical for the end of times. But their hair was perfect, so was their skin - clearly a lot of effort had gone into maintaining these women, and compared to how you'd rolled in, they were goddesses in comparison. Still, there was a stagnant, uncomfortable sort of atmosphere when you walked through the room behind Negan. All of their eyes were averted, save for a pert, ambitious blond woman, and another - you learned they were Sherry and Amber, just from Negan's casual remarks.

 

"They can leave any time they like," Negan was strangely reassuring, like he could detect your opinion of him was gradually lowering and that for some reason, he gave a damn. Your eyes were drawn to the black woman across the room, with lively, long waved hair and buxom figure. Negan noticed, of course, and chuckled.

 

"That one's Laverne, she's a real ride," he said casually, he gave you a sideways glance "-You built the other way?" it took you a moment to understand what Negan was asking, before he lapsed into cruder terms. He noticed your passing fixation, and really, it was just that she was excessively beautiful to you, she had a sort of body that you'd forgotten people could have. You were used to the emaciated walkers, or women whose bodies were living on rations, your own strength was foreign, and a result of training excessively in the bayou with food access, but even back there, women didn't look like Laverne.

 

"She's pretty," you said tightly, drawing your lips together as he led you through the room to another. This was apparently, just a stop to the place he actually wanted to take you, and to be honest, the quicker you got away from the stagnant atmosphere, the better. All it was doing was making Negan seem more and more like a creepy old man, which, well, it wasn't totally fair. It's not like he was the kind of person you'd see leaning into a keyhole and watch you have sex or collect your underwear or something, which was usually what "creepy old man" evoked - but he was definitely...something.  "I just..." you frowned.

 

You weren't someone that was regularly with women in the romantic sense, and before The Rising, you wouldn't have even considered it, but it's fair to say a lot changed in the space of a few years, but realising you hadn't actually answered his question, you just shut the door behind you, cutting you off from the sight of the women.

 

"I just forgot women could look like that," which wasn't entirely a lie, just not the whole truth either. Laverne was pretty, she reminded you of someone you could rest your head against and feel an almost maternal instinct from, there was a woman like that back in the bayou. They didn't look anything alike, as Riley wasn't buxom at all, but she had the same sort of beauty about her.

 

"Nice dodge," said Negan with a smirk, leading you to a room with several black, soft chairs, a large table with plates already set and to your surprise, several candles despite the fair amount of daylight spraying in, meaning they were purely for decadent, aesthetic purposes, because Negan could afford that kind of a lifestyle. He made you wash your hands before inviting you to sit directly across from him. Somehow, this was more intimate than it had been in the morning, maybe because Rick wasn't there, and you didn't actually have any real business with him. You just wanted to get back to your mattress.

 

You watched as he poured what looked like some kind of alcohol into a pair of glasses. You weren't much of a drinker, but with the ache shooting through your fingers, you'd be hard pressed to refuse the bit of gin that you were offered. Glancing down, you realised with a scowl that your chicken flavoured noodles were the meal of the night, poured into two bowls. Only, there was a mix of beans and some harvested vegetables, cooked until soft. You had to admit, it smelled nice, but it did also feel like Negan was rubbing the fact he now owned you in your face.

 

"So, how was munitions?" he started out casually enough, and that in itself was weird. Negan was not the small talk sort to you, and the fact he was having an actual human conversation with you instead of just threatening you like he had in the shower, or simply "telling you how it was" - was really, really unnerving. More unnerving than having him watch you shower and soap yourself down, somehow, that was preferable. You understood the whole "I must exert control constantly" sort of attitude, the strange way that people act when they want you to fear them. That you understood, but this? This threw you for a loop, and Negan seemed to be quickly figuring that out, and using it to his advantage.

 

"It was....fine," you said slowly. Negan made a gesture with his hands, like he wanted to know more, or have some more details. You wanted to gripe that he could just go and get a report off of Linda, who was probably dying to tell him how shitty you are, but decided that you would pick your battles. "Linda taught me to use the hand primer, but I already know how to bullet pack,"

 

"Did the Professor teach you that?" Negan asked suddenly, making you frown slightly. Was that what this was about? Did he want to know what kind of uses you offered? If so, that at least made some sense, what didn't make sense was why it was his personal perogative and why he didn't delegate the task to someone else. You rationed that was the novelty aspect again, he saw you like some curious oddity, a little toy in the end of the world, you supposed.

 

"Yes, for the autocannons - the base had saltpeter mines from the mountains so after we deployed all the gear we had, we had to start making it from scratch like you are," you said, shifting a bit on the chair as Negan picked up his bowl, and began loudly and contently chewing on his stir fry.

 

"Except this is more of a back up option, we get plenty of rounds, but you need an alternative for when the wells run dry," he was referring to the other colonies, and he was clearly thinking about the long game, when getting further and further out would be hard unless he was able to up his numbers, and the others no longer had much in the way of bullets.

 

"I want to know what you can do," he said, pointing at you with his fork, before reclining all the way back into the seat. You looked at him in confused silence for a moment - what kind of question was that?

 

"Sell yourself to me," elaborated Negan.

 

"I can pack bullets," you said, racking your brains "-I'm good at...fixing things, when they break, I mean," at Negan's questioning look, you tried to come up with a more solid explanation. Honestly, selling yourself wasn't something you'd done in a while.  "Professor Mattius taught me how to repair generators. Only the oil-powered ones though, and we both kind of know how hard that is to come by, I guess,"

 

You racked your brain for more, surely there had to be more?

 

"Minor electrical stuff that broke at the camp, like the walkies, the HAM radio and the boiler - I mean look, I'm not an expert, but he taught me how things work, how to deal with circuits and stuff in case he... well... yeah," you finished lamely. "Give me enough time with something and I can usually find a way to rig it to work, eventually,"

 

"Eugene might have some use for you," said Negan suddenly, tapping the left side of his temple a little with the side of his fork. "You're a thinker."

 

"I don't know about that," you said awkwardly. "I just read a lot of manuals and made a lot of mistakes until I started getting things right, and whose Eugene?"

 

"Dipshit with a mullet, one of Rick's. You'll meet the whole cast soon enough,"

 

Negan waved it off, you were probably handier than most the men at camp, considering the kind of higher level technology you were exposed to on the base, but he didn't air that, not wanting to give you some sort of ego or think you were something he couldn't afford to lose. He was thinking about how long you'd been walking with herds, how long you'd been leading your mother by the arm and how you managed to make the lake house livable, living undetected by Saviors for that long.

 

"I can scavange - and cook, I mean, I liked to cook...before everything...happened," you said with a small shrug. You used to do it a lot in the airport, and help the older women who would use the supplies to cook for the group. When you got the Louisiana survivor outpost, you did it there for a while too, until Evelyn took a shine to it, and eventually, you were cooking just for her.

 

"Oh, darlin' I know you can scavange," smirked Negan "-There was a lot of inventory in that fuckin' lake house. I have to admit, I was a little impressed when I got to see it myself, you managed to squirrel a lot of shit away under our noses,"

 

His smirk turned positively vicious for a moment.

 

"Must suck to have lost it all,"

 

He searched your face for some kind of reaction, and you tensed, but not visibly. Instead, you gave him a levelled stare before dipping into your own bowl of food. It was good - you'd forgotten what fresh vegetables tasted like, and wondered what kind of farming setup he must have had to make this possible.

 

"I might have you join my runners. Don't know if I can leave you in the kitchens yet, would prefer to keep you right where I can see you,"

 

You shivered a bit, for some reason, that felt more ominous than maybe even he meant it too. In truth, the whole atmosphere just didn't feel right, you don't know what kind of report the man wanted off you and you were still a bit skeeved out from walking through his harem. In all honesty, you just wanted to go to bed. Negan put down his bowl of food for a moment, before rooting in his jacket - slipping a hand into one of his side zips, before pulling out a brown book that seemed familiar to you.

 

He threw it down on the table and slid it over to you, gesturing for you to open it. With a frown, you did, only to instantly remember where you saw it before. It was Dr Carson's - he was scribbling in it when he was tending to you!

 

"That's a fair bit of shit to just leave unexplained, don't you think?"

 

You flicked through it, but it wasn't anything you didn't already know - so you put it back on the table, making a grab for the gin instead, feeling the aching sensation in your fingers once more as you curled your fingers around the neck of the glass.

 

"What does this have to do with anything?" you asked, frowning and barely able to keep up with Negan's train of thought. The subject just seemed so random, but clearly he'd been planning to address it for a while or he wouldn't have just been carrying the medical records.

 

"You see, I just can't get what you said out of my god damn mind," Negan sighed in an incredibly put-upon manner, he leaned forward now, putting both of his arms across his spread apart legs. His smile dropped and you could see him wet his lips behind his salt and pepper beard. He had a piercing sort of appearance, possibly due to his size and how he carried himself, but also just in his tone and face - which, in all fairness, wasn't a bad looking face.

 

"If these assholes send people, and we take care of it, I want to know what we're dealing with. Assuming I'm believing everything you've told me," ah yeah, that brought you back full circle, this was assuming that Negan believed you weren't telling a huge, elaborate lie - but the medical record kind of supported your story. It all depended on what you told him, and you kind of needed him to believe you, in case the bayou really did send trackers.

 

He couldn't get what you'd said in the shower out of his mind, and the report from Carson just made it that much stranger.

 

"You said 'naked evil' - bit dramatic, sweetheart,"

 

You scowled at him - you were not one for hyperbole, when it came to the bayou, you lacked words to really explain it and you had thought that naked evil was as close as you could get, but he didn't believe you - and you needed him too.

 

"Accurate, not dramatic. Accurate," you said, nursing your gin and knowing full well it wasn't nearly enough. "-What do you want me to tell you sir, my fucking life story?"

 

"Don't mistake this for me caring, but I need to know," Negan snapped, only to see you visibly bristle. You gulped more of the gin, feeling it burn down your throat - before putting the glass down and staring at him in disbelief. You couldn't even hide the fact you were pissed off under your usual deadeyed aloofness. You of course, did not expect the creepy old guy to give half a shit about you, because again, you knew exactly what you were to him, but he could have at least pretended that your life was of at least some minor concern. It was stupid to think he was obligated in any way to care and you knew this, but it would have been polite to at least pretend. Apparantly, Negan didn't give two shits about pretending, and considering the sensative nature of the subject matter, you felt your face heating up in anger.

 

"Well tough shit, some shit is private," - as you said that, you remembered his words in the shower, and saw the irritation bleed onto his features. "You need to know names, numbers, inventory, shit I've already given you to the best of my ability, the last thing I'm going to tell you is how that place fucking ran. I'm not giving you ideas,"

 

"I don't need them," Negan scoffed "I'm running shit pretty well on my own. Your secrets are my secrets, or did you fucking forget already?"

 

You felt yourself freezing up, drawing your shoulders up to your ears as Negan pressed you for more. Maybe you'd forgotten how to talk to people, how to reign it in properly, or maybe there was something about Negan that made you spill your fucking guts. You felt your face heating up more, it took Negan a moment to realise - and he assumed it was anger, but after a few moments, he realised it could be more than just that.

 

"You don't want them," you said, body tense all over. "The Bayou Community are not people you reason with, they're like...the belly of a Rotter, they just...don't get full, and they take, and they take, they take and take and they don't stop until they consume and they ruin everything they touch,"

 

You found yourself gazing deeply into the empty glass, only to find it filling more with dark liquid - with Negan silently filling it more as it blurred slightly in your vision, your eyes starting to glisten. It had been a really long time since you'd held a proper conversation and even longer since you spoke about your time in Louisiana, because you made a point of travelling alone. It was incredibly rare that you met good people, you could count them on one hand, and even then, you hadn't told them much.

 

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, my secrets are just mine, they don't affect anything. I could try to convince you how bad the Bayou people are, but nothing could prepare you for them. I don't know what you want from me," you said bitterly. "I don't even know what you're trying to do here, making me report to you like this. I thought you'd be too busy to waste time on me, but I guess this is probably the closest thing to entertainment you have these days. I guess that's what this is, right?"

 

"This is just entertaining you, I want my secrets to mean a little more than that,"

 

Negan didn't want to admit that you'd figured him out so easily, he didn't take himself as the kind of man who was open book. The idea of it pissed him off, but when he looked upon you, he felt the feeling ebb. He wasn't sure his cocksure demeanor was the right thing for the situation now, like when he made Carl show him his eye, and started guffawing about how disgusting it was until he'd managed to make him cry. It was one of few times that Negan actually felt bad about something - about hurting someone, and now, something similar to that was creeping up on him as you became quieter. He was realising now, that you weren't just angry, but embarrassed. It was the feeling that probably should have shown itself during the shower incident but in this moment, you somehow seemed more naked than ever.

 

"Just tell me what happened here," he said finally, in what you supposed was a soothing tone, pulling the brown medical book back away from you, tapping it in reference. "Tell me and you won't have to try to convince me of anything, not if you just tell me the truth. If they come knocking, you'll be the first person I tell." Shit, Negan almost sounded nice, even if you could see through it.

 

You felt your face burning, it was now he could see it was pure mortification, confirmed as you uttered something softly.

 

_"...But it's embarrassing..."_

 

Silence, except for glasses clinking.

 

Shit, man. This was one of those awful reminders that you were younger than all the women on camp and only a few years older than Carl, you were an adult - he could see as much when he watched the water running down your skin, but you were barely one. You were raised by the end of the world, for God's sake - when he met you, you were childishly clinging onto your dead mother with such sad desperation that you were lugging her around on a leash, regardless of how practical it was. At the end of the day, you were tougher than most people your age and younger, Negan could tell as much, but you were still...a girl, in a lot of ways. Carl Grimes, at least, had Rick. Negan had come across those weird little interview tapes of Deanna's and caught an image of wild Rick - before he'd all but broken the beast entirely, back then, he was a guy Negan wouldn't have fucked with easier, and Carl had been raised by that beast. What were you raised by? What became of you? Why the hell were you like this?

 

Negan wanted to know, you were his own little puzzle to deconstruct and he wanted to know so badly, but that genuine creeping feeling that he was being genuinely shitty was overcoming him, just as it had as he'd gawked at Carl's eye socket. Enough that he'd even made some attempt at trying to comfort him and make him embrace the fucking thing.

 

"What did they do to you?"

 

You surprised Negan by giving him a humourless little laugh, a sad sheen still glistening in your eyes, and God, he just really hoped you didn't start fucking crying.

 

"Oh, you know," you chuckled "-everything."

 

Everything.

 

"She did everything, Evelyn and Chuck - the people who... ran the bayou, I guess," you felt your face radiate warmth like it was the surface of the fucking sun as Negan looked at you with an unblinking stare, demanding more while saying very little. "They're ruthless, they - " you furrowed your brow "-I know you said you don't hurt your 'wives' - do you?"

 

"Of course not," said Negan, personally affronted that you'd even suggest it, but not surprised.

 

"Yeah well, they weren't above that, somehow, in a messed up sort of way, the people they 'loved' - they got it so much worse," you shivered before you could stop it, suddenly no longer able to stomach anything, it was harder to hold Negan's stare now, and so you were looking at your boots with a sort of childlike embarrassment.

 

"And they loved you?" said Negan, there was an undercurrent of confusion, mixed with a strange kind of dread that he couldn't explain, and oh fuck - oh God, no, please don't - you fucking - no..

 

' _Fucking fuck, she's crying. She's crying. Shit.'_

 

Your voice crackling hoarsely, you felt your eyes betraying you as something warm started to race down both of your cheeks and meet at your chin, congealing into one salty tear that fell in thick and sudden drops.

 

"They loved me more than anyone,"

 

You started to cry uncomfortably, suddenly trying to stop it, but it was like a broken pipe, once it started, it couldn't stop, and you were shuddering trying not to look at the merciless man. He was the last person you exposed weakness too but he'd all but twisted your arm to get it out of you, knowing full well that you'd be resistant to torture, he peppered you with logic and subtle kindness while masking it thickly in his douchebag demeanor knowing that would have a much better response. You pushed both hands up against your eyes and wiped them with an almost angry sort of manner, but it was useless.  You hadn't even explained the ins and outs of why you were so injured - to justify the medical record, but suddenly, Negan wasn't really sure how much he wanted to know. He already got a feeling that it was probably shitty to stomach, and would bite at that small bit of moral fibre he had.

 

But Negan was greedy - and he needed to know.

 

"Hey - hey, stop, - stop doing that," he said, scowling a bit - but trying to turn on the charm. "We're a completely different animal to the kind of shitbags you dealt with. You're safer here than there anyway. I don't know if you've gathered it yet, but there's just some shit that doesn't fly here. If you tell me what they did, I can tell you if that's somethin' you need to worry about. But chances are, it ain't - in fact, I personally oversee what happens to you. Nobody will even fuckin' fart in your general direction, but you need to tell me everything," there was a strange comforting nature to his words, even if it was probably all lies. Negan watched as you curled up on yourself on his couch, promptly realising you were too far gone, and having some sort of episode.

 

"Awh, fucking shit!"

 

* * *

 

 

_You shivered and felt the ache around your wrists, hands raised highly above your head. You glanced to the door, trying to swing your body in it's direction, it was pointless, of course, but maybe...if the rope was fragile enough, you could make it snap and you'd fall near the door and lurch your body out. Or you would break every bone in your body and die, or you'd land in the sea of rotters beneath you. You could see your arms going pale because of the amount of blood that was rushing in one direction. Honestly, how your arms just didn't snap from having to support you so long as a mystery. What if your bones were permanently damaged from this? It really hurt, and the sight of all those dead underneath you, moaning and reaching their hands up for your feet made you want to be sick._

 

_You were swinging from an industrial crane. You were naked, too, and across the barbed wire barrier you could see some people glancing up from your camp, watching you swinging like a Christmas bauble from a tree._

 

_"Evie please! Please, it hurts. I want to come down now, I'm sorry!"_

 

_"You just stay up there and think about what you did!" a strong, screeching voice rang out from a speaker attached to the encampment, the noise seemed to excite the dead beneath you. "-And stop swinging or you'll wear down the rope,"_

 

_"I didn't mean too - I didn't want - tell them Chuck! Please!" your voice was screaming, cracking under the pressure from your dry vocal chords. This was a foreign kind of agony, you were swinging from the crane that was designed to move ELBED, and it hurt. Every part of you was just screaming, and you could feel an agonised burning sensation in your thighs as blood started to run down your inner leg, dripping onto the undead._

 

**_"Chuck! Please tell them. Chuck. Please tell them. Evelyn I'm sorry! EVIE - I'M SORRY --"_ **

 

 

 

You knew you were on Negan's sofa, laying down now, looking up at the ceiling but you didn't really feel like you were there. It was like your body was in a dream, and your mind was just stuck somewhere else. Somewhere horrible. You could feel yourself being violently shaken, but you were burbling in confusion, looking at Negan but not really seeing him as he stood over you, shaking you violently until Dr Carson came in, physically winded from running across the entire camp.

 

"Carson, what the fuck is this? She's having a mental!"

 

"She's - I don't know!" said Carson - it didn't look like a medical problem, more of a mental one, and he wasn't sure he knew how to deal with it. Instead, he reached for the nearest thing - the giblets of gin that were left, and dashed it over your face, making your eyes roll back into your skull. Shit. Fuck. Did he make it worse? Eventually, looking at each other, Carson took a risk - raising his hand, and bringing it down with enough force that the resounding smack echoed through the room.

 

You jolted suddenly - so suddenly that you actually managed to headbutt the man in the nose. Shaking from head to toe, you looked at the pair, before staggering back off the sofa, falling to the floor and clattering with a loud thud, scraping yourself across the floor and backing up until your back hit a wall, curling into a corner.

 

You weren't - this wasn't - this wasn't the camp - and it wasn't the lake house - it wasn't - you weren't - where was Evelyn...?

 

You found yourself staring up at the looming figures of the doctor and Negan.

 

"...Deadshot?" that seemed to bring you back to the present, your hands clutching the kirpan - it was Negan who called you that, and you realised that this was the first time he'd called you by that term, and it seemed to make you relax. It was familiar. You were panting now - but you swear you could still smell the blood - you looked down at yourself, seeing yourself in Carl's trousers, and no sensation of blood running down your legs.They watched as you patted yourself down with an odd expression on your face. Negan walked ahead of the doctor, before crouching down to your spot in the corner - he looked almost deceptively kind.

 

"You about done?" he said.

 

You frowned - it did still feel like a dream - you were probably going to wake up, dangling over the Louisiana bayou again.  You were certain of it - but the smell of sweat and leather started to get under your nose, enough that you reached your clammy hands out for it, squeezing around the arms and wrists until your fingers sank into it. It didn't really feel very real until Negan got up, and you found yourself getting up with him, refusing to let go, slowly taking in the room again. Negan stood and felt you patting down his arms until he moved then, grabbing your wrists hard enough that you finally seemed like you were adjusting to the actual room again.

 

You looked at him with a tired frown, your eyeballs positively aching. It had been a while since something like that had happened - since you lost awareness like that. It was scary, and from your face, he could see you were frightened.

 

"Damn girl, you've got a tight squeeze on you," said Negan, you didn't really know what to say, except mumble out a confused apology "-the doctor is going to take you back into his office," he said.

 

"Then in the morning, we'll have another one of our little talks, okay?" again, his tone took on that deceptive kindness. He let your wrists go, and brushed a stray bit of hair back from you in a manner that you found too familiar, a bit like how he'd been with the towel in the shower, but it just seemed to be in his nature. He just did whatever he wanted, but it was as how he'd comforted Carl, doing it in the way that he knew best, despite knowing that he had this natural ability to set your hackles up, he just wanted it to come across as nice as he actually intended.

 

"And if I think you're up to it and you'll be of use, I'm going to take you with me to my Alexandria run, and you are going to show me how good of a scavanger you are, alright?"

 

His tone was so reassuring, very "I know what I'm doing" - not the most comforting words at all, but somehow his pragmatism and the fact that he seemed to know exactly what needed to happen next comforted you. It was like he knew exactly what was needed - without really meaning to.

 

"Okay," you said softly, as he let you go and you felt Dr Carson gently place a hand on the small of your back.

 

"Goodnight," said Negan suddenly, before falling back into his chair, and looking at the empty bottle of gin in annoyance.

 

That was coming out of Carson's points.

 

 


	5. Hurricane Negan

The thick accent rolled over you first, before you registered it was Rick Grimes – with his dishevelled appearance and thick jacket, with a winter collar that was now so dirty it no longer resembled the beige that it was.

 

“Did he hurt you?”

 

You frowned a little, getting up off the bed that Carson had given you in the small hours of the morning, before Negan was even awake. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you gave the sweaty man a guarded look, until you remembered the last thing he saw was Negan breaking into your shower time.

 

“No,” you rasped out tiredly, yawning and stretching. “He’s the first person not too actually,”

 

Rick gave you a look that you couldn’t decipher, before kneeling closer to your bed, speaking in a low tone – you gathered that perhaps, he shouldn’t be here.

 

“Listen, today – we’re going on a supply run to Alexandria. That’s where my people are, the ones I told you about – they’re good people,” said Rick quietly. “Every one of them wants Negan out of the picture, and I’ll be there trying to keep things calm during collection, but I need something from you,”

 

You looked at him in confusion, and saw him glance warily at the door, before speaking in hush tones.

 

“I’m putting trust in you, because you’re new here, and I’ve seen how you deal with Negan,” he said throatily “-Importantly, I’ve seen how he talks with you – and you haven’t even been here a week. You take up all his attention, and I don’t even know that he realises that yet,”

 

You gave him a tired, confused and quizzical look – this guy wasn’t making much sense to you, but clearly, he was desperate or he wouldn’t be putting faith in you, a stranger.

 

“What do you need from me?” you said warily.

 

“All I need from you is to keep Negan busy, can you do that?” he whispered. “The less you know why, the better,”

 

“I…guess? Look, if you aren’t supposed to be here you should probably go, he said he was going to collect me himself,” you warned him, and just like that, he made a quick exit. It was so quick, in fact, that you had to wonder if you had dreamed the entire interaction because you fell back asleep shortly after, until you felt the sensation of something gently stroking your forehead. It had been a while since you'd felt something that warm and affectionate, and in a dream, you equated the familiarity with family back home. You smiled contentedly in Dr Carson's office, drawing your knees up to your chest. You let out a low noise of contentedness, recognising these as the twilight hours before you remembered how completely fucked the world is, before anyone would lay a hand on you to hurt you. The soft time. The good time. The before-time.

 

If you could have purred, you probably would have. It reminded you of a gentle warmness that you would feel briefly in the bayou, when Riley would crawl up into your bed and hold you for a few short hours before she had to slip away.

 

You mumbled tiredly in your sleep.

 

" _...Riley...should go, you know what'll happen.._.," you mumbled in a barely legible tone, sleepily turning to the source of the warm strokes. There was that fear settled in the pit of your stomach that you would be waking up in Evelyn and Chuck's bed, all the way in Louisiana, before a smooth, dark chuckle oozing into your ear. Your eyes reluctantly opened themselves, as Rick's early wake up probably did you more harm than good, it shifted back back to reality. The present-time, where white sheets and poorly lit room came into view, your eyes took in a pair of masculine hands, which definitely didn't belong, yet stupidly, your tired, blurry, unseeing eyes fell shut again, exhausted from the severe emotional break you'd had yesterday. You decided it was probably because of the rapid change in environment, and that you hadn't had any chance to sit and meditate on your thoughts to try to clear the pure clusterfuck that had been delivered in the form of Lucille cutting down your withered, dead mother. It was your talks with her, though you knew she didn't talk back, that often helped you clear your mind.

 

"Later baby," you moaned, feeling the hand tucking hair behind your left ear in a persistant manner that told you that Riley wasn't leaving the bed any time soon - when did she get such manly hands...?

 

"Wakey wakey, rise and shine," said the too cheerful voice, which you had come to recognise as the Old Guy's Schtick - wait...

 

Wait...

 

_That Old Batshit Guy._

 

 

Your eyes darted open in a second making you forcefully take in the source of the stroking hand, which, upon seeing who it belonged to, now felt mocking - because it belonged to none other than King Asshole himself - Negan. He had a smile that frankly had no business being on anyone's face that morning - but that was because he was collecting "half of people's shit" - God, that wasn't going to be fun. Then...you were sure you didn't imagine that conversation - you'd be seeing Rick's people? Hell, maybe even Dipshit With the Mullet.

 

"Oh, God!" you said, all but jumping out of your skin at the over familiarity.

 

"You called?" he said cheekily, making you groan and wipe the sleep out of your eyes. It had been a really long time since you hadn't woken up every few hours, and you were still getting used to it - usually you got up from the slightest noise but the incident yesterday wiped out all of your mental reserves and kept you vulnerable. You gave the man a withering look. In truth it wouldn't surprise yourself if he elevated himself to something like that, even if it was a joke. The way the Saviors acted around him, it was like he was a fucking Pharaoh - one goddamn step down from divinity.

 

If he was seriously going the "morning chat" route - you weren't really in the mood.

 

"It's too early to talk," you said stiffly, slowly forcing yourself up. Already at the start of the day you met him with resistance and usually it would make him so goddamn annoyed. Usually. "Usually" - he was finding he was making exceptions left and right when dealing with the enigma that was you and it bothered him because it was not decisions consciously made - and Negan was always in control. Especially of himself. Always.

 

"Were you watching me sleep?" you said suddenly, piercing the silence that followed.

 

Negan just smiled, before folding his arms across his leather jacket, in truth it was the first smile he'd seen since the sandwich incident, it was a little thing - but he was of the belief women looked better smiling and you were no exception. It just wasn't something he could do often, with his sort of position and all. It was his first human to human interaction after long forgetting that those stupid little sacks of shit on legs were actually people and not idiots he had to keep in line.

 

"I have better shit to do, but you looked peaceful, almost felt bad wakin' you - but I'm a man of my word, said I'd be here early and here I am!"

 

You glanced away from him "-If this is about yesterday, lets not and say we did?"

 

He chuckled humourlessly, shaking his head. 

 

"Oh that talk is happening, just not right now. I wanted to see if you were ready to join my runners, and Carson gave me the go ahead, so here I am. You think ya ready girlie?"

 

You blinked at him slowly - it was almost like he was trying to make you comfortable - like...ick, you were some kind of a pet or something. Yeah. Negan's pet. That's totally what it felt like. You nodded, remembering what was said yesterday when you had dug your fingers into his sweaty leather jacket and the calmness that had swept over you when he told you exactly what was going to happen next. Scavanging. Collecting. Normal. You slid off the bed and flinched, feeling the man place a lazy hand on your shoulder - the over familiarity just reeking of a sense of ownership.

 

_'Yeah. Pet. Novelty. That's all you are, kid. Take it for what it's worth because nobody looks after anyone any more and you know it. If this is what it takes, fucking take it.'_

 

That's what the little voice of self preservation told you, but damn, your pride told you that you had survived on your own well enough since leaving the bayou, and your body was covered in reminders of what happens when you become property of other people.

 

"I'm ready,"

 

* * *

 

 

The ride to the safe zone of Alexandria was surprisingly quiet, Negan didn't talk to you anymore, and for that you were sort of grateful. It gave you time to sit in the back and finally meditate in the comfort of an armoured vehice. It was nice, yet you did not switch off or become unaware, in a strange way, it was like you were more aware than ever. You were stretching out every other sense the best you could. Hearing especially - you could recognise the footsteps of the undead, how they walked differently. They staggered, the fresh ones could really walk. You could get a feel with their belaboured movements and how their heels would drag. You could tell from how they were decomposed roughly how far gone they were, Professor Mattius had taught you that. Mortuary science sort of became mandatory reading, not that it helped any. The guy still ended up dead.

 

You could feel the hum of the engine, the smoothness of the wide open roads - smoother than the ones back in India and roomier than the ones in England.

 

You could hear Dwight breathing, Negan's fingers drumming against Lucille. You could hear Rick's breathing be slightly ragged - like he was nervous. Of course, he was nervous.

 

Then Dwight put on some shitty CD, and drowned it all out, but you kept sharp.

 

_Point one. Mother was dead. She became the undead. Negan put her down._

 

_Point two. She rooted you. She was that bit of consistency. When you left the bayou, you took her as a cloak, and she kept on being your mother even after she died. You could finally tell her the things you couldn't tell her when she was alive. All the things Evelyn did. All the things you were ashamed of them doing to her little girl._

 

_Point three. You were unrooted, which was chaos. Your vent is gone. That bit of home is dead. All you have is a bit of cloth around the wrist and a kirpan. You stopped believing for a long time but you missed the sweet murmuring in Punjabi, you missed the stories about your dickhead cousins. You missed it. You missed it all._

 

_Point four. Negan unrooted you. It was the cost. You did a bad thing. You went too far with his truck driver. Yes, your shit was yours but you didn't have to lash out so badly. You didn't have to kill him. Yes, he was going for your mother, but she was already dead! You were so unhinged that it made you lash out and kill the man. You responded the way the bayou people had made you. You were this thing... and in a moment, you were unmade. When he took her away. He unrooted you, but if he didn't wouldn't you be getting worse?_

 

You opened your eyes, looking up at Negan from your place on the floor of the truck, legs crossed over each other. You felt calmer, but the emotions were just a bitter pill to swallow all around. More things to consider.

 

_Point five. You are now out of state. You are the safest you've ever been, you are close to the person at the top of the chain, sitting directly to the left of you._

 

"Darlin' what're you doing down there? Awful quiet, or do you like Dwight's shit taste in music?"

 

In truth you didn't notice, until you realised it was some God-awful excuse for rap, it'd just been so long since you'd heard music that you didn't actually complain. It was now you realised you were directly across from Negan's left leg, feeling the material of his trouser brush up against your body, you turned to see him staring down at you.

 

"C'mon, talk to me in that sexy accent of yours," he said, jostling you with his leg.

 

You blinked up at him, feeling better now you'd put your thoughts into order. "Clearing my mind, getting my thoughts together. You should try it, y'know, if you have anything rattling around in there,"

 

Dwight had the nerve to fucking snort - because no way did you just reccomend to fucking NEGAN of all people, that he take up fucking _meditation._

 

"Mmn, sass me behind closed doors, I have less of an issue. Out there? You don't," eyes narrowing down at you, taking on a serious tone. "-Or it'll be back to our little discussion, but I'll probably let you pick which box you stay in,"

 

You scowled, before feeling him gently prod you with his foot, licking his lower lip as he gave you a look that made you feel like you really were a fucking pet. The over familiar tone he used was because he owned everything around him included you, but also implied that you were the centre stage. It became obvious now that the reason Rick had woke you up at the buttfuck crack of dawn was correct, but what the Hell did he expect you to do? Distract Negan how? Distract him terrorising the colonies he was exerting control over? Or just...

 

_Oh God, did he expect you to the Evelyn to his Chuck? You just fucking met the guy! -_ the very idea of it made you feel kind of sick, it was perhaps, the worst analogy to draw.

 

But, you reasoned - he was an asshole. A terrifying one. The first thing he did was try to frighten the living daylights out of you, then again in the shower - clearly he wasn't a good man, at the very least, he wasn't a nice man. But...but.... He would be exerting that on people who weren't like you, and he'd be worse, so much worse, because they didn't have the defence of being a curious new oddity that could invade all of his attentions and just wreck the best laid plans by doing as little as just turning the fuck up and being the strangest stranger in the apocalypse.

 

He killed two of Rick's people - good people, he said - but how much could you trust him? Your instincts told you that he could be trusted, and then there was the way in which he behaved - the small bits of kindness, then looking out for you when he thought Negan had done something untoward to you. You had done nothing to deserve anyone giving a shit about you, none of these people really knew you, so the fact that Rick Grimes still had gone out of his way...which means that there was probably a good person under all that. Under that broken demeanour - and God....those were so fucking rare in the apocalypse.

 

Your conscience told you that you had to at least try, try and.... God, do what with Negan?

 

You glanced up at him, and he caught your stare, feeling you watch him. Shakily, due to the truck moving, you wobbled over to Negan, grimacing as you lost your footing over Lucille and found yourself slammed hard against the boniest part of his knee. Wincing - you felt his hands around your sides, holding you in place, feeling him stop you from dropping off him with a tremendous amount of ease.

 

"Steady there girl, don't bruise somethin' before we even get out the fuckin' truck,"

 

You turned and shifted so you were on a softer part of his leg, glancing up, you could see Rick sitting beside the driver, his eyes glancing up at you from the overview mirror - just watching. It became apparant you weren't moving soon, you just sat there, trying to get comfortable - which, on one leg, was a little hard, but you were unwilling to crawl further up his lap - that'd just get...weird. He was giving you this look like he expected something out of you - that you were doing something and it was somehow what needed to be done.

 

Consume Negan, filter Negan, make him less... Negan-y. Somehow. Distract him from whatever the fuck Rick's group was going to do and trying to make collection as smooth as possible. You were headed into volatile territory, because Negan was the chemical that made solutions volatile.

 

God, why did he think you could do that again?

 

Collection, then scavanging. That was the plan.

 

At least, it was the plan, until some crazy bitch snapped and tried to shoot Negan with a homemade bullet.

 

* * *

 

 

You couldn't stop Negan being Negan, he was this way long before you were on the scene. Whatever hold Rick thought you had, he was probably half imagining, half hopeful - he seemed to just storm through Alexandria like a human wrecking ball. He was pushing his boundaries, practically sliding his dick down people's throats and making them thank him for it. It was like a peacock showing off every plume he had. Who the fuck was he trying to impress?

 

When it came to taking their guns, you felt something in your stomach drop. There was Dipshit with a Mullet, he had to be Eugene - then were was a woman, a pretty woman, with an absent look in her face. The people of Alexandria - something about them was soft, and it set them apart from Rick's group, you could tell which ones probably rolled up with him just from how they were and you didn't even have to go deep into their psychology. Survivors recognised each other.

 

Then there was a black man - a priest? He looked...soft, but...he stood with Rick's lot. You could see who was who, and a black woman with a sword, who was looking at you in a piercing manner that made your skin want to peel on the spot. The second time you'd had such a severe sensation. These were hard, brittle people, and Negan was pushing them. He was pushing them so hard and you knew there was only so much people could take before they snapped - was the leather-clad man really so out of touch with reality?

 

There might have been more people, but the Alexandria Safe Zone was huge. It had a softer atmosphere than the base at Negan's - it was...homely, it was American-homely. The sort you used to see on TV, before The Rising.

 

You watched the way Rick's face drained of all colour as Negan bounced a little girl on his knee, kissing her on the nose. That - oh my God. Rick had a kid besides the one you knew about. A best kept secret - oh... this...

 

Was this why Rick wanted Negan...distracted?

 

You suddenly had a feeling like you'd failed - and worse, it was a kid. But how the fuck does anyone stop Hurricane Negan? Maybe it was seeing that little girl that did it - maybe it was that. It had to be, because wasn't that you, so many years ago? Only, you weren't born into the fucking apocalypse, sure you had a rough ass upbringing, but that was nothing compared to The End. Judith still had people looking out for her, only, when the world began to End, you lost that. Everything ended for you, why did it have to end for her?

 

"I don't even know why I'm trying so damn hard - I could just kill you both," he said cheerfully.

 

It took you a moment to realise that he wasn't referring to the toddler, or your mind would have truly gone blank, your feet walked you onto that porch with a frightening speed and purpose. Enough that your brain hadn't even had the time to catch up with you - to give you a reply when you had all but thundered over. There was a small flood of relief when another chair came into view - and you saw another figure sitting down which Negan had to be referring to.

 

Your words spilled out before you could stop it, because the idea of failing the first child you'd seen since the end of fucking days was almost too much to bare.

 

"Because then sir, you would lose touch with reality," your voice was sharp, foreign, and pierced the tension created from the fake atmosphere that Negan was breeding to make the little happy toddler giggle in his arms. You felt all four sets of eyes on you - including the toddler, Negan very slowly ceased his bouncing, and with some small sigh of relief internally for the Grimes family, handed Judith silently to the young boy on the rocking chair, whose face was half-covered by long, brown hair. You stood there, facing down Negan, Rick, Judith - and who you supposed was probably Carl.

 

Negan leaned back, and it was now you noticed he'd finally unzipped his jacket and draped it on his chair, revealing his white, clean tank top pressing into his figure. He had rings of sweat from where he'd worn the jacket for so long and it had gathered the most - you noted it was the first time you saw him out of it, and your assessment of his body strength had been correct. It was also likely leagues above the rest of people in his age bracket, except maybe for Rick - but you couldn't be sure.

 

"And there is my little stray English Muffin!" he said with far too much fake warmness, gesturing to the boy on the chair holding Judith. "-Now why oh why, would you say a thing like that, hm?" there was a curious and dangerous glint in his eyes, and you knew you had him hooked.

 

You cleared your throat - not having really thought that far.

 

"Well," you glanced at the two Grimes, before folding your arms under your chest.  "When you start killing for no reason, you go downhill, no better than rotters, no different from eating each other. Mattius called it an Ouroboros effect. Trust me I've seen it happen across the state line. I wouldn't say shit if I didn't see it myself,"

 

Okay, now or never, keep pushing those buttons - you were in now, and you had to divert attention from the pointless dickswinging, this group of strangers was at a boiling point and you could see it. Bold as brass. Pretend you aren't shitting yourself because he still has Lucille dangling next to his chair.

 

"But as it stands you have most these people shitting into their hands out of pure fear, which, good job on that. Well done. Now, I can keep on going on going on, I was doing just fine before you rocked into my lake house and turned everything tits up, and I could keep on being fine way after. But this here? That little girl? Is a child of the goddamn end of the world, and you building communities, letting things like Alexandria even _stand,_ is pointless, if they have nothing to grow up to. You will invalidate your own actions if you give into this goddamn lazy mindset and the only reason I'm standing here telling you off is because the worst thing that you can do, is kill me, because I've already lived through everything else,"

 

You licked your bottom lip as Negan rose out of his chair, preparing to get into your space, preparing to bare down on you - to make you suffer for encroaching on his dickswinging manly parade. You felt your legs carrying you backwards now - and seeing the younger Grimes get up from the corner of your eye.

 

"And you're looking at me all pissed off like a dog whose paw I've stepped on because you know I'm right and you know that I have absolutely no reason to give two shits and a fuck to protect any of these people so you know I'm probably right-"

 

Okay, now he was really getting into your personal space and you could feel the outside wall of the house behind your back, meaning you'd run out of places to run, he had to arch his body just so he could glare down at you properly as he was so tall. Your ramble was also quickly running out of steam too - mostly because you were running out of breathe, but you couldn't have a little toddler grow up with no family or worse, have Negan as that family.

 

"And you wouldn't let me get away with so much if I wasn't the only one telling you the things you didn't want to hear because if I don't nobody will and you'll---"

 

Then he shut you up by putting a finger to your mouth, his tone was icy, yet accepting, a strange sort of look on his face that told you - you had probably done too much. You'd stepped out of line or he was going to unleash holy hell or you'd be picking which box you were going to be sleeping in. Judith stared at you with big blue eyes, and the thing inside of you that sank felt right, finally.

 

"Point. Taken," he said quietly, his tone serious, his eyes hooded and dark. You just stood up to Negan - but you'd done it in front of the Grimes brothers - and returning to form, he hit you back with some sarcasm, moving his finger so it trailed down your lip to your chin in a manner that you decided was again, too familiar.

 

"Anything else you want to add to your list of criticisms to how the fuck I run things and what the fuck I'm doin' - little lady lifecoach?" the familiar venom was oozing into his joking tone and you knew you had to diffuse, and quickly.

 

"....You would look really weird if you shaved," you finished lamely, finally taking a breathe. You heard him talking about 'shearing this shit off' and touching his face as he rocked beside the Grimes family, before he began bouncing Judith, and it was the first thing that came to mind. It was so nonsensical - you didn't think about it all - it just came out because everything was absolutely tense. Negan finally backed out of your space, and you could feel energy returning into your legs as he threw his head back in a typically dramatic fashion and started to laugh. It didn't even sound entirely fake or put-on or even sarcastic, just an actual laugh, like you'd picked the best line at the best comedic timing possible to land something that stopped it all bubbling over.  At least, for a little while.

 

You started laughing too, albeit nervously, glancing between everyone and when your eyes met Rick's, he nodded once.

 

That's all you needed.

 

It seemed like a decade of awkwardness passed before you turned to Carl Grimes and were immediately greeted by his gaping eye-socket. Instinctively your eyes were drawn to it and you felt something inside you lurch but it was by far not the most disgusting thing you'd seen. You just felt something inside you ache, because it must be so tremendously painful just to fucking live with. You concentrated on his nose and lips instead, which was easier, as he seemed to have Rick's height and towered over you just a little.

 

"....Are those my pants?"

 

It took you a moment to register that he meant trousers and not underwear even after all of this time, you glanced down and found yourself dressed curiously still. It seemed natural to you - the moldy grey-white shirt you had which was a shade muddier than Negan's - you could see your own sweat clinging to your muscle and the dark black pushup showing evidently through it with the corners peeking out of the top. From the waist down was your holy scabbard and makeshift strap for your sledgehammer - and...yeah. These were Carl's trousers - Rick gave them to you!

 

"Um..." you said awkwardly, face flushing - it was just an awkward moment made even worse by Carl's bluntness - you said the first thing that came to mind (which already, wasn't proving to be the best idea, but it was working kind of) "-Your father gave them to me,"

 

Now even Negan was looking at you funny, because that somehow just made everything make even less sense, and you felt your mouth fall open - cheeks aflush.

 

"Shit," you closed your eyes, a frustrated expression crossing your features. You really had forgotten how to talk to people, hadn't you?  "Bloody buggering fuck," you also seemed to forget Judith was right there. "Wait shit, cover her ears - never mind, too late."  God, you wished your brain would stop farting all over the place and making things worse. Negan felt himself smiling when he heard those kinds of cursewords, tickling that little fancy of his. "I mean, I didn't have pants because Negan took them,"

 

Negan realised this was the second time he heard you say his first name ever, because you weren't talking to him, but about him. He rather liked how it sounded out of your mouth.

 

Negan scoffed at your words - about to say something indignant as you put your foot in your mouth and realised it quickly enough that you carried on stumbling. "I mean shit - not literally - I mean he set my points in the negative _after_ taking all my stuff and giving me only half back and I didn't have anything when I came in injured because I'd been wearing the same clothes for months walking with the dead and crossing the stateline---" you rambled, feeling your face get hotter as Carl gave you an odd look which was kind of turning into a half smile.  "And Negan put my points into the negatives so I couldn't actually get clothes so Mr Grimes just kind of....gave me...your pants," you exhaled.

 

You coughed a little forced cough and scratched the back of your neck with a strange charisma that came from being absolutely strange but honest.

 

"This is awkward," you said, jamming your hands into your's - well - Carl's pants pockets "-you can um, have the pants back - NOT - not right now obviously but um, after. My clothes are clean now - well sort of - as clean as clothes get -"

 

"Uh, no, you're good - I mean, it's fine," said Carl slowly, his lips twitching into a hesitent smile, almost reluctant to do it in Negan's presence. You couldn't blame him - not with how he acted towards the Alexandrians, and there was likely things you didn't even know - like "Daryl in the Box". Carl was staring at you in his clothes, mostly because he'd never seen his clothes on a girl before and the closest he'd even got to one was Enid, so this was just strange for him. He took you in from the boots up to his pants which were tucked into them, and the shirt that might as well have been transparant. He saw you had muscles in your arms and abdominals carving themselves out from what was hard training for sure, and hair half tied up with long bangs that fell either side of your head. It was the only hint to how long your hair must be, but clearly you kept it out of walker grip as best you could. His eyes stopped at your chest just because it was a strange sort of look to have, but it was nothing but respectful. After how you'd lingered on his eye, it reinforced you not really minding.

 

Negan's laughter started up again but it wasn't the uproarious one you'd earned moments prior but instead a steady chuckle, a glisten of humour in his usually sadistic sort of stare. "You kids are cute, shit Carl, you can stare at her titties if you want, I don't think she cares - she let me do it--"

 

You felt your skin get hotter, turning to Negan and then Rick, who was just staring between you two - trying to remember the last time Carl smiled and how you even made it possible in the presence of a fucking dictator who took two of their own.

 

"Okay, you're an old man who can see all the tits he likes from your weird little freaky deaky harem, second, I know this - " you gestured at your upper torso "-isn't exactly in _Vogue_ but being as the head of Gucci, Fendi and Georgio Armani probably have half their heads bitten off and I couldn't even afford that shit before the apocalypse, I'll take a random chick's bra that fits me push up or not and third of all, Mr Grimes - you can wipe that look off your face because I'm pretty sure your kid's head won't explode if he accidentally sees a nipple."

 

You exhaled, glancing between all three men and Judith.

 

"Did I about cover everything?"

 

* * *

 

 

Carl, Rick, Gabriel, Eugene, Rosita - some more people whose names you couldn't keep track of - then he just - he threatened someone, and he pushed and pushed and pushed them. That woman - Olivia, and the pretty woman who you'd noted seemed vacant - she quivered, and she snapped.

 

Negan threatened to take all their guns away, and he started doing it - just to keep the Alexandrians in line and force them to rely on the Saviors for protection and also to crush any idea of an uprise, it had been enough even though he'd already taken all their ammunition. It had been enough and Rosita had to fire a homemade bullet for Negan - trying and failing to kill him. You saw something inside him snap and his body lunge - without thinking, you grabbed his wrist.

 

" _DON'T!"_

 

He went to aim a gun at Rosita - but you saw his wrist about to flick west and probably try to scare the absolute piss out of everyone by reinforcing a culture of fear and take another one of Rick's troupe or at least, someone they cared about. You just shoved his gun-hand violently in as far as you could - just as he pulled the trigger - and the bullet went soaring, missing Olivia by perhaps...a few hairs, at best.

 

You saw him turn and direct that unbridled fury at you.

 

**"That bitch tried to kill me! How fuckin DARE you--"**

 

You saw him groping for Lucille - and very swiftly kicked it away, unfortunately, in Dwight's general direction, but he seemed like he was gawking unable to figure out what to do because things like this just didn't happen to Negan - and he motioned to train a gun on you, only to point it down because you were much too in Negan's space to give him a clear shot without him walking through Rick's people.

 

_"Pointless death pisses me off and if you act on impulse here you're going to ruin everything that you have going,"_ you gasped in a single breathe - glancing wildly at the group of terrifying Alexandrians - but whatever bravery you were running on promptly ran out and was replaced by terror and pure instinct. You felt his hand hands lashing out and he was so much bigger and stronger - instead you crossed your arm and stopped a fist from flying - the foaming anger was terrifying and you blocking just seemed to make it worse.

 

"Negan," you gasped, blocking him with your right and stepping back - the movements were so quick and so jarring, shocking and unexpected that many were just rooted to the ground, watching for the first few seconds.

 

"Negan!" you shouted a little more, feeling that you were very barely able to stop his swinging rage, blocking with the left. His movements got angrier - you found yourself ducking, before grabbing him by his tank top and digging your nails in as far as they could go.

 

"NEGAN!" you gave the group a sideways glance. "-You said they get you supplies for powder right?" you gasped out - desperately trying to make mental connections with what little you knew and gleaned. "-And that's a homemade bullet, yeah?"

 

He growled, his hand wrapped around your neck as you saw Dwight in the corner of your eye, finally stalking over.

 

"So instead of make more examples and make them make more bullets, just take the source," you choked, feeling a slight struggle against Negan's fist, which slowly seemed to relax. The thing he was now more angry about, was the open argument and challenge of his authority in front of _everybody._

 

 

"No more death here please, please, if you're making me stay with you, don't make me watch everything you've built crumble. I can't stand to see that again, I'll stay in the box. I'll do what you want, I don't care, just - "

 

He very slowly let you go, staring out at the crowd of silent Alexandrians. He said nothing, turning around to pick up the kicked bat - usually an offence he would not stand, but his mind was spinning - in a second he felt like everything crumbled in a second, his empire - at the hands of a tiny Indian woman, because you made too much damn sense. Negan raised himself to full height, sliding his jacket on again, captivating everyone with a terrified silence. He made one motion with his hand to Dwight to keep his gun down, and walked across the group, staring each and every one of them in the face.

 

"Someone's dealing you other supplies behind my back to make this little number," he picked the homemade bullet up, it was still hot to touch in his finger tips, his eyes still glinting with a horrible rage. "-And it's your lucky day, because for some god fuckin' unknown reason, this lady," he pointed at you with Lucille, making you flinch.

 

"Raised some very good points while all ya'll were too busy shitting yourselves," he stopped halfway through the crowd of people. "-so nobody is going to die today," he paused for effect "-but someone definitely isn't coming back,"

 

And with that, with a horrific amount of force, he grabbed Eugene by his hair and dragged him out of the safe cluster of people. He didn't need to ask who it was that did it, he could tell that Rosita was clearly not the mastermind behind this - and Rosita could only watch - this...

 

This was entirely her fault, people could have died because of her not being able to cope with Abraham's death - but if Maggie was here and not at Hilltop she might have done the same, fat lot of luck that did Rosita though, watching Negan drag Eugene away.

 

Eugene, who was about as innocent as Gabriel.

 

Eugene, one of the soft ones - now gone, the group losing a vital organ whether they admitted it or not, he was a brain and a fucking good one at that even if he'd lied a lot in the beginning about being as smart as he was, he was still....sharp. Another fracture ran through Rick's group, but as you felt yourself getting angrily dragged by Dwight, you glanced over at Rick - and could have sworn that you saw him mouth a "Thank You,".

 

You wondered, bitterly how much good that'd do in The Box.

 


	6. Release the Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been pumping these out like crazy around university but this chapter is significantly shorter with nowt much happening, but R&R anyway if the direction is okay with ya'll <3

_‘You’ve opened the door to darkness, little girl.’_ The door swung shut and left you in the shadows – giving you a small space that you could walk around before pressing against hard metallic walls in darkness that was so immense you could not see them without reaching your hands out. He was angry – really angry, some transgressions could not go amiss without punishment or at least the allusion of such. There were much worse things, you knew, that being in the box, and as punishments went it was not too bad.

 

The maddening nature of the box was the idea of stewing in filth and no longer being able to sense the passing of days, but that was a problem even if you could see the sunlight, and were not trapped in the little space.

 

Every now and then, the door would open with a creak and there would be something slid in – a pouch of water and something to eat. But you couldn’t tell for how long you’d be in there and when you’d be able to relieve yourself, so you spent most of your time not eating. It was a familiar exercise, but washed you in a strange sense of peace. It was not a comfortable peace, but you were away from the dead and from the people who were hurting you – in a way, the box was practically a safe zone of its very own.

 

It was perhaps, not the message you were supposed to take, and whoever opened the door was stuck with getting your food in, they would take away the trays in confusion and mild annoyance. You wondered how that was accounted for in terms of the point system. It was not you trying to be awkward, obtuse, or rebellious, but it was how you survived the days. Of course, you would have to drink eventually, and when you did, whoever got the trays in after had the displeasure of emptying out a warm cup of bodily fluid.

 

You would play this game for however long you needed to. It had to have been a week or so – maybe more, when you heard the door creaking open with a groan.

 

“You must be desperate or bored to come all this way to bother me in person,” your voice was a little hoarse. You could tell who it was merely from the heaviness of the footsteps. It would inspire fear in anyone else, but the mind-numbing quietness had stilled you, bringing you to a strange feeling of contentedness. Negan was almost annoyed by what he was seeing, you, with your eyes shut, cross-legged and remaining painfully in control.

 

“Or perhaps there is nobody left that wants to empty out warm cups of piss,” your tone still smooth, eyes still shut. This might have even been a vacation inside yourself, it had been a long time since you had been this relaxed in a while.

 

“Most people kill themselves when left alone in the box this long,” said Negan casually, letting the sun stream in and hit your skin as he kept the door open. You let out a bored noise, thinking constantly of the time you had spent briefly within Alexandria. You suffered for people you did not know, for the sake of a girl of whom you laid eyes upon for barely a few minutes at a time.

 

“And how long is ‘this long’?” you said quietly, forcing your eyes open and to adjust to the light with some small ache.

 

“A month,”

 

Surprise bled onto your face before you could stop it – you were probably out of shape and feeble now, the last thing he had done was slam you in the truck and keep you locked in there with Eugene as the group scavenged and headed back to the main base. You were more surprised that he’d left you alone for this long, but maybe that’s because your intervention had been so egregious, he did not like the amount of control that had been lost in a moment. And now he was back again, because you mulled over your words for days, and found them to be correct – perhaps he did too. Perhaps, he knew that was losing touch with reality, and you were a cold slap in the face. One that he needed, though he loathed to admit it.

 

“There were a group of people from Hilltop supplying shells and primer to Alexandria,” said Negan after a moment, speaking into the box.

 

In other words, you were right.

 

“Come out of the fucking box.”

 

You did so, feeling your legs stretch – you’d walked a fair bit, even shadowboxed a little with what small energy you had, but there wasn’t a lot of walking to be done – being led into the light was refreshing. You supposed, perhaps, that you should be angry at Negan for keeping you in there and any normal person would be, but there couldn’t have been any other way this would have gone down. You’d had long enough to think about that. There had to be a reason you were being let out – but Negan wasn’t providing. Maybe he just got bored again.

 

“You’re dealing with this a lot better than Daryl,” he commented. You glanced over at him silently, before shrugging. You doubted Daryl had been through anything worse than what Negan was putting him through.

 

He was silent as you walked through the camp with him. People were staring because it had been a while since anyone had seen your face, and you were walking beside Negan in perhaps better form than you’d been in for ages.

 

“You have a get out of jail free card,” Negan continued, glancing back at you. “Not that you deserve it much. I fuckin’ told you what happens when I’m disrespected out there, didn’t I? I wasn’t fucking joking with you,”

 

Negan’s brand of punishment seemed almost paltry to you, but you did not say as much – you did not dare have him ramp it up.

 

“But you did raise good points, and I am a smart man, but though I loathe to admit it, I am not perfect,” he smirked a little, rolling his broad shoulders back with a click. “Just very, very close to it,”

 

You noticed his facial hair seemed a little thicker since you last saw him, but well kept. You had to admit, it looked better on him like this, more ferocious – like the washed-out bandit that he ultimately was. “-And you, my darling, told me things I didn’t want to hear,”

 

“You needed to hear them,” you maintained, shrugging, and butting in lazily, maintaining that the very reason you were thrown in the box did very little in the ways of disciplining you. It was almost like a show, just to save face and lick the man’s bruised ego. “We are not friends. Your people took my shit, I killed one of yours, your lamped my mother in fucking face, and you threw me in a box for a month with no sense of time or bathroom breaks as a consequence for challenging your authority in front of people.” Your tone was flat, monotone, and distinctly unamused. “We are not friends,” you repeated.

 

“And by insisting I stay here, you could even call it kidnapping,” sigh. “But does it mean I want you to see your little empire fall? No. See, I was fine before you, and I’ll be fine well after you, but I’m human – and we need other humans whether we admit it or we don’t. That’s why people don’t travel alone anymore, they colonise. They stick together. It’s why you’re trying to build a community, it’s the natural fucking order,”

 

You brought your shoulders to your ears, feeling a cold gust of wind hit you, it was the first bit of breeze you’d felt in four weeks.

 

“So believe it or not, I’d like what I saw at Alexandria to survive, and here to survive, what I don’t want is to you fall or turn into something worse, cos if you’re making me stay here, I want it to be something good. Something better than what we leave behind,” clearly, you had this speech in your head for a while, you had four weeks to after all. “I don’t hold petty grudges, if I’m here, I want it to work, and if that means I have to – I have to do things like what I did in Alexandria. Then I’ll do it, and I’ll do it again, and again and again if I have to.”

 

 

Negan waited for you to finish your little speech, clearly the box was ineffectual but that was something he was sort of glad for, because while it was irritating – everything that made you unique was still there.

 

“I was going to say, before your little rude ass interrupted me, that sometimes – someone needs the shitty job. And that someone – is going to be you,” he said simply. He smiled through his beard, making you strangely flustered from just how penetrative his stare was.  “You have the shitty privilege of telling me when I’m about to make a horrible fuckin’ decision, because as you said – a while ago. All of these pussies are way, way too scared to do that – and you…. Are the only person I can be pretty fucking sure of doesn’t have some kind of ulterior motive undermining me.”

 

Shit, he thought about this more than maybe even you had.

 

"You're my advisor," he said shortly, looking you over with a strangely critical stare "-you just need to prove you're any fucking good at it," - it felt like there was something he wasn't saying, something had to be the catalyst for this. He found a use for you, to keep you around, but surely that didn't take a month - he could have left you in there a year if he wanted and that might have been seen as "saving face" enough.

 

"There's something else," you guessed "-you're speaking in the way adults do when they're hiding shit, they don't straight-up lie they just omit stuff,"

 

Negan wagged a finger in your face, making you tempted to swat it away - it was rather patronising, to be honest.

 

"You're awful fuckin' creepy when you make predictions like that, and any way, that would be telling. I'd have thought you wanted a shower first,"

 

"Depends, are you going to watch me this time?" you shot back darkly, seeing his smile turn positively devilish.

 

"I think I'm a pretty good towel-holder, but I'm even better with a loofah,"

 

Firstly, the fact that he had a loofah was surprising - or maybe he was just shooting the shit and being provocative again. He knew you regarded him as old - with that massive gap between you but it did not seem to factor into his decision in making you an advisory role nor did it stop him from making incredibly vulgar, sexual remarks at you. It was jarring, it had been a while since you'd had a conversation this long, but it seemed to be the way of things recently. When you questioned him about the advisory decision, it was mostly so that he could keep an eye on you, but something about you just absolutely got his goat, he couldn't keep away. He occasionally paced outside your box the first few days you were in there, expecting to hear the screaming and the banging he'd heard when Daryl had been shoved in, but recieved nothing. His reasoning was that kids raised by the end of the world were far better at adapting to change and realised things changes in the environment and the motivations in people. It's how kids picked up on things like infedility, marriages collapsing and all sorts of little signs that people too preoccupied with surviving would miss. With you and Carl, the end of the world was just a backdrop, it was not something that you had to think about anymore. It allowed you to put all of your mind into other things, like making a society, establishing relationships, all of it.

 

There were methods to Negan's madness, and the ability for kids to adapt - well shit, he picked up on that back during his days as a gym coach.

 

Then, of course, the unique experience of you and the bayou community. Yeah, you were a hot commodity with a sharp mind and an even sharper sense of right and wrong in a world where that was becoming harder and harder to find. What he was doing to the people of Alexandria was plain bullying, and you'd allowed him all of his actions up until a certain point where you realised a change in the air and that Rosita was going to do something foolish. You knew when to step in and you'd done so fearlessly, for people that had earned absolutely no feelings towards you despite very slight nicety.

 

"Fine, hold the towel," you said passively, "-I don't really care,"

 

"You probably should," said Negan "-in fact, I was going to say this earlier, but you should at least try and give a shit about your own body."

 

You bristled a bit, giving him a strange look as he led you to the communals, he didn't grab you a fresh pair of clothes, but to your surprise, you found some in a bag, simply waiting by an empty stall.

 

"If it doesn't get bit, it doesn't matter," you said passively "-I just need to keep it strong, and ready. That's all you really need," and yet, part of you envied Laverne that day - Negan could tell. It took him a while to put two and two together but he had a month to evaluate the psychology of your behaviour, and he had. "I trained a lot in the bayou," you remembered, before glancing down at yourself after you'd peeled off the muddy tank, crudely slinging it at Negan's boots, making him cock a brow at you.

 

"It's been a while actually, maybe a bit too long, if I'm your advisor - do I still get to use the training ground? I mean, I feel like I should be better with a gun instead of just packing for them. I'll admit they're really not my bag, but I should learn. Um, in case. I got along well enough with my sledge and the kirpan but..." you let out an exasperated noise, wiggling out of the trousers once your boots were off, as if it were normal to change in front of a forty-something stranger. That's what amused Negan the most, the way you'd just forgotten societal rules to a point that you just didn't care. Something about you had gone utterly native, almost feral - it was kind of hot.

 

"Been meaning to ask you about that actually," said Negan suddenly, letting his eyes roam lecherously across your body as you stood in bra and underwear, before quickly removing that too - it's not like he hadn't seen it all before. "-back in Alexandria, you blocked me a few times," he paused "-moved like something out of a fucking Bruce Lee movie, did they teach you that at the bayou?"

 

"Er, yes and no," you were happy to finally have something you could talk about that wasn't wholly negative about the place you came from before. "The US army teaches its recruits Combatives, it's like watered down Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu," you looked at the expression on Negan's face and cracked your first smile in weeks.

 

"It's not as cool as it sounds, it's really really watered down. Higher level striking techniques don't happen till later, it's really not part of the program any more. Hasn't been for years, we're all guns and drones now. Best you'll get these days is grappling techniques - Sarge used to bitch about it a lot. But yeah we had a guy who used to train the recruits at the base who was big into hand to hand as a way of cutting the fat and getting his troops in the proper mindset. He ended up teaching some of us some neat tricks - but it kinda reminded me off stuff back home - erm, England-home, I mean," you elaborated, feeling hot water hit your back and make you let out a long winding sigh.

 

Yeah, it was weird having Negan fully clothed and staring at you, but he made his own rules, and this was by far not the most intrusive thing to happen to you.

 

"You should be weirded out by this," Negan pointed out, but you ignored it - much happier to keep blathering about the actual times that had made you happy.

 

"Back home, I used to go to Gurdwara every day after school and go to Gatka classes," at Negan's absolutely blank look, you couldn't help but laugh, feeling the hot water pouring into your mouth when you did. "Gurdwara - it's um, temple. My family, they were Sikhs - yeah, um, that'll take longer to explain. It was more cultural than religious for us though, I guess. Gatka is like...what we teach our kids, how to use swords - it's part of the religion I guess. Founded in opposition of Mughal empires and um, I dunno, lots of reasons, there was a time when India needed a sense of direction I guess. It was supposed to bring equality, in theory. War and peace - it's - it's what we're brought up with. Sarge just...reminded me of that. All those things, so he used to wrangle me from Mattius when he could,"

 

"It was like I was finally reconnecting with something that I know that I can't get back, and you know I can't. I told you the state of the world that we knew it as before we left. Israel was the last stronghold. Home is gone, and India was already a third world," you pressed your forehead against the back of the stall and and felt a strange, grim peace wash over you as the water did. "I'm not an idiot. I know it's gone. So yeah - it's... I mean, it's good he taught us. The thing to worry about besides the rotters are the survivors, they're the more dangerous."

 

"You mean to say, I'm dangerous," Negan quipped.

 

"Yeah," you looked at him "-did I answer your questions?"

 

"I'm impressed," said Negan after a long period of quiet, watching you scrub your hair which now reached mid back when it wasn't tied up haphazardly in a turbanlike updo. "Carl was impressed - well, a fair few people, even that fucker, Dwight, I mean shit he still don't like you much but he don't like anything much. I've known him long enough to know when he's impressed,"

 

"You should teach me a thing or two," Negan cracked a wide smile "-I'm into that shit," he flexed through his leather jacket "-Used to be real happy teaching fat little butterballs how to climb a rope, never really got to do what I wanted much though. Old style boxing. District used to say it was too harsh."

 

You gave him an absolutely blank look before he chuckled and said something that absolutely threw you for a goddamn loop.

 

"I used to teach gym,"

 

For some reason that made you laugh - you laughed so hard that you slipped and reached out for him first - feeling him easily catch you with one arm which was now getting wet under the showerhead. The small space was getting fogged with steam, but God - it was like he told the funniest joke in the world. Negan - this hardass, as a gym teacher - I mean, you could see it, but really? A teacher? Well, you mused, you might not have skipped gym if you had his scary ass teaching you.

 

"That fuckin' funny to you?" though there was no real malice in his tone, you noticed, he even smiled as he said it. "I just noticed I demand shit outta you and you know nothing about me. So yeah, I taught gym."

 

"Shit, if you were my gym teacher I probably wouldn't have skipped," you said, refinding your balance with him as support, you brushed out the soggy dark locks of hair out of your face so you could see him properly, and saw that he wasn't smiling anymore. You slowly let go, before turning back to the hot shower head.  "I mean, I'd have been scared into staying in class, probably,"

 

"You don't strike me as a kid who skipped a lot, you talk too smart," he paused "Or maybe your its your accent that makes you sound smarter than you fuckin' are,"

 

"Just gym," you admitted with a meek little blush that rose just purely because you could tell he was probably equating you with the "unhappy little butterballs"  he had to teach before The Rising. "I was a good kid who got good grades and I skipped gym because I was a nerd and it'd tire me out too much for Gatka after school," though that sounded like an obvious fib, even to your own ears - it didn't convince your unhappy teacher either, and Negan looked a little skeptical too. "Well, uhm. Okay, I hated my gym teacher because she made fun of me when a girl named Tila accidentally hit me like, really, really hard in the tit,"

 

Negan scoffed, and you blushed a little harder.  "In fairness, it was the height of puberty, they really hurt, and Tila threw like she was fucking She-Hulk, I actually keeled over and cried on the spot and my teacher told me to walk it off and I felt like she had it in for me ever since so I just skipped Physical Ed for like...five years,"

 

It was such a mundane thing to blow up and result in you skipping a whole part of your curriculum for years - and it sounded so stupid to talk about now the dead were living, Negan just found himself laughing, with true honest to God mirth in his eyes. "Your teacher was a fucking bitch. I usually let the chicks get out of stuff when they started bitching and moaning about being on the rag and their tits hurting just so I wouldn't have to deal with it, if you started crying I'd have sent Tila's ass out lickety-fuckin' split,"

 

"Tila was a bitch and I said her weave looked bad when she made fun of my family," you admitted "-We didn't have a lot of money and the ones who did had it mostly through dealing. That's how we even afforded to get to the ass-end of the fucking world."

 

"Drugs? Shit kid, what the fuck even was your life?" snorted Negan "-Was it just fucked before the rest of the world starting walking to your pace or what? Shit, I bet this is a goddamn vacation for you,"

 

"I wouldn't go that far," you mumbled, feeling self-conscious - not sure why Negan was bringing all this out of you. You turned to him when he turned the shower off, this time, he walked into the cubicle with the towel open and didn't wait for you to walk into it, forcibly wrapping you into it. "I've told you too much, I guess it's been a while since I spoke this much to anyone," you sighed "-anyone whose actually alive and not dead, since the bayou,"

 

"You should hate me," Negan said "-You don't even want to be here, but you're trying to help me make this shit work - and I appreciate it, I really do," that almost sounded genuine. "What must it be like for you huh? Nobody in the whole fuckin' world that's your own. Oceans away from all the shit you knew even before everything became all....freaky and unknown," he mused aloud.

 

You found yourself shuddering in the towel, staring up at the old man. Something inside you was just breaking a little, you didn't know what - it couldn't have been the time in the box, could it? Or maybe, just the fact you were let out at all, and the fact that he seemed to give a shit about your past because it was interesting. It was interesting, and he needed to know more about you and keep you at his heel and that would protect you. This easy conversation about the Good Times, it was....God, it was exactly what you needed.

 

"How'd you make it this long without giving up?"

 

You shrugged - now that you didn't have a real answer for.

 

"I wouldn't even be in this shithole if my family didn't attend the fucking funeral-wedding extravaganza, I like to think of this as them cosmically fucking me over from beyond the grave, and me living in spite of it is just rubbing it in dad's face." Yeah, he wasn't great, he was the stereotypical 'I'm waiting for you to go into medicine before I give a shit' kind of Asian and despite his faith, gave it up in favour of drinking like a fish long before the end of the world. Mum was about the only stable thing and that had gone.

 

"Oh, daddy issues too," Negan smirked, making you glare at him. "Now I feel slightly bad about killing your dead mom," he paused "-that's a weird sentence to say outloud."

 

You shrugged, feeling him wrap the towel around you tighter, but not to hurt you like last time - it was almost gentle.

 

"There's nothing left for me now, I knew that for a long time. I thought there was before, in the bayou - but things...they just change. I guess, and it's fucking wank,"

 

Negan couldn't help it, he laughed again - hearing you express your displeasure, his cheeks getting flush beneath his facial hair. "Swear more," he said, when his laughter subsided. It took you a few minutes to realise he was serious and expected you to swear for him like a performing monkey in the way he'd made Carl sing just for shits and giggles, only this seemed to not involve control and more for genuine humour.

 

"Shit, fuck, balls, bollocks, bloody buggering hell, wanker, arsehole, bint, cunt, motherfucker, manky mingin' fucking numpty, plonker --"

 

"Okay now I'm pretty sure you're just making some of those up!" said Negan between laughs.

 

"Twat, wally, prick, gobshite, munter - right, that's me about done for now," you said, raising a brow at his strangeness "There's more but I'm not very good at this on-the-spot freestyle lark," It took Negan a full three minutes for him to calm down, and by then, you'd put your clothes on and folded your arms beneath your chest and patiently waited for him to finish.

 

"What's a munter?" asked Negan after walking you from the communal down the centre path of the camp. He walked for a while, leading you to his current favourite home where he planned on having you sit down with Eugene and discuss what you knew about munitions and improving their output - but not before he caught site of Dwight, about to head out on patrol.

 

"Someone really ugly," you explained.

 

Negan shouted over.

 

"Dwight!" making the man turn around.

 

"Yeah boss?"

 

"You're a munter!" he said cheerfully, making you slap your hand over the front of your mouth in surprise, and to stop the sudden laughter that threatened to come out. Everything about the psychopathic entity that was Negan just turned you upside down, entering you into his topsy-turvey space and suckering you into his dominate, masculine personality and using you to balance the hard edge that he naturally possessed.

 

Yeah, this was going to be a long day.

 


	7. For the Love of Lipstick

It was a long day, most of it was spent trying to get Eugene to stop talking in circles and try to sound like he could outsmart people and get away with not actually helping the Saviors, but you were quick to nip that in the bud. One didn't simply bullshit a bullshitter - and after he stopped being petrified of being away from the group and being in the lion's den, he was able to relax, he must have felt some degree of protection being with you. You had him overseeing the development of gunpowder when he went on runs for munitions and had made a rough sort of month by month plan for the scheduled output of shells. By the end, the nerd had managed to exhaust you so much that you just wanted to walk - even if curfew would settle soon and you would have to be in bed unless you had a sensible reason to be walking around so late. The twilight hours would be upon you soon and Eugene had about talked you to death, very quickly figuring out that you may be his only friend in this place sans Rick and Carl.

 

Speaking of the devils, due to being held up all day with munitions, you didn't get to see either of them either, until you began walking down the residential zone, seeing the flicker of hand-rolled cigs lighting up distantly from what was probably a cig made of asbestos and drywall because those were harder to come across than electricals that still worked. You wondered if you'd been forgotten in the time you'd been in the box, it wouldn't have surprised you - or even if Rick's people had moved on from Alexandria knowing what a lucky break they had. But, you reasoned, busy or not you'd have heard about that.

 

"Hey!" a voice called to you, making you turn to a face a generously sized looking stately home, or rather, the lived-in ruins of one. You saw two figures there, but instantly recognised the voice as familiar. Coming into view under the darkening skies, you could see that it was Carl, the other figure was Rick - who was getting up to head over to you too - looking you up and down in a strangely concerned manner.

 

"You were gone for weeks, nobody knew if we'd ever see you again," Rick blurted out before anyone could say anything. You looked at the man, visibly surprised at the concern shown by him, he didn't seem any worse for wear. He looked like shit when you saw him last, and he looked like shit now - if you were honest. You stared at him with an obviously confused look on your face, it honestly still hadn't fully sunk in that you were in the box for a month, but clearly it was enough to frazzle people. You could see Carl was looking at you with just as much criticism, as though checking for signs of wear or torture with his good eye.

 

Rick's hoarse, tired voice crackled at you but brimmed with genuine emotion, he too, had clearly mulled over everything that had transpired in Alexandria ad infinitum, and what it meant.

 

"But I'm glad to see you're alright - after what you did in Alexandria - I know I asked for your help but I never expected you to do all this. I know it was going to go down a lot worse than that, Negan....made that pretty clear after he dragged you away," said Rick, he was leaning down slightly so he could get on an eye-level with you, you were short - and he was your elder, but still, you resisted an urge to feel patronised. It was kind of sweet, in a strange way.

 

"Thank you, you won't regret this, I promise," said Rick softly. You just shrugged and backed away from him a bit - you didn't expect anything back, Negan was slipping, the situation was volatile, all you did was diffuse it - it was mostly for that little girl. You didn't want to be involved in another absolute shitshow, after all.

 

"Don't worry about it Mr Grimes," you said, lapsing into old habits once more, swinging your feet off the side of the porch and looking out at the Sanctuary folk milling about, doing their last bits of business. “I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation. That’s all anyone’s doing - if you can believe that,”

 

Eventually, Rick headed inside as it was getting cold, but curiously, Carl stayed out with you - perplexed by you.

 

"I don't know why you did any of that for us, I don't know if I trust it, or understand it. But thanks, I guess," said Carl - he was thankful yet suspicious at the same time. You didn't blame him.

 

"Funnily enough, that's exactly how I feel about your old man when he's nice to me,"

 

The Grimes pair seemed to be the most receptive to you, which was strange, there was a heavy air of distrust from the katana girl, not that you could blame her. Everything about you was an enigma and it was highly unsettling, so was your position with Negan, for that matter. It did little to put you in anyone's friend books, but the Alexandria bunch were curious. They were like tigers that'd been poked and poked and poked, ready to pounce, and finally, it had been you that took the rod away. It was strangely enough, the preacher, that you found to be the easiest company when he visited the Sanctuary, he had no desire to be there of course, but he wanted to check on the status of Eugene.

 

Considering everything that went down, it was maybe the ballsiest thing anyone had ever done, and Negan did not expect it from Gabriel. It looked as though Gabriel didn't even expect it from himself, or maybe he'd been put up to it by someone else, and pressured into it, which was more likely.

 

He seemed to take you on faith though. He trusted you, and you wondered briefly if he was a solid judge of character or if he was just a fool who trusted too much. Either way, it was like he had a strange, untouchable veneer in the apocalypse, whatever he'd done for Rick's group, he seemed to have become their friend - and Negan...well, he was just amused there was anyone Godly left on the damn planet. It was enough that Negan allowed him an exact fifteen minutes to the last second to see that Eugene was okay, before dismissing him from the Sanctuary, and having an armed man forcefully guide him back out and walk him back to a truck, for a ride back to Alexandria.

 

If not for you, Gabriel wouldn't have had that fifteen minutes.

 

You were striking a balance here, and Negan wasn't sure why, but you were easing the kind of relationship he had with the Alexandrians and Hilltop to the best of your ability, there was an air of subjugation still, but now there was a sense of stability, and even order. If there wasn't something right, it went to you, and then it went to Negan. There were debates, but Negan seemed to know when he had to breathe fire, and shut shit down. He could be the bad cop, which in a sense, made you good cop. You weren't sure how you felt about the role, and on a day to day basis, found yourself overseeing Eugene in munitions to earn your bread, but it was a relatively easy life.

 

Really easy, compared to everything that happened before.

 

Then of course, there was the weird thing with Negan. Negan, Negan, Negan. A man who demanded more of your time and attention than strictly necessary and always seemed to find a reason just to have you around, for a while, it was alright, and quite safe. But the more it happened, the more and more you felt like a pet. It didn't help that he was a bit patronising too - but he had this strange banter with you, a chemistry that you didn't know how to put out that made you more fun to be around that most people..

 

Being Negan's pet was exhausting, you decided.

 

* * *

 

 

The training grounds were mostly made up of zones marked with chalk to designate the areas of the would-be range, with poorly painted targets. The larger guns, you had to say, weren't exactly your favourite, though the long-range sniping guns were your favoured of the heavy artillery, it seemed ELBED and all of your intimate work in the base had put you off of using the massive guns that the Saviors walked around with. Practice was mostly with small colts and handguns, and your aim was naturally just a bit off kilter - but you were good. Just in need of more confidence so you could increase your speed a bit, especially with reload, the mental timing you'd given yourself was poor. You fumbled. You weren't speedy.

 

You had a smaller cordorned off area, one for physical stuff - you had to put it together yourself, with some help. Mostly sandbags, heavy iron bars and pulleys made from rope and brick. It wasn't the most glamorous setup, but clearly you knew what you were doing. The whole area took half a day to rig, and you'd only needed the help of one person who you got to help you after catching their curious gaze. It was, curiously, one of the men you shared accomodation with.

 

"This enough?" the black man, whose name you learned was Aaron, asked.

 

"Yeah, I can't imagine many people are rushing to use it," - well, at least, that's what you thought. It seemed you may have forgotten a passing promise you'd made to Negan, so for four hours in the early hours of the morning and one before night, you would be in this small cordorned off area.

 

There wasn't much to it, really, some days it was just building up on your core strength - heavy lifting was just somethat that came with building society, and wielding the sledge. It had been too long for you to be comfortable with the state of your body. When the world was in chaos, you had to be ready for all out war with everything from other people to natural elements, and not being strong enough on your own wasn't a problem that you wanted to suffer with anymore.

 

You were keenly aware that sometimes you were watched, either by passers by using the training ground or just the curious on their way to their various jobs keeping the Sanctuary running. You made a point of making sure you found time for training outside. You grinned as Aaron dropped the iron bars down, wincing and calling it quits for a while, and heading for garden duty. You took off the mountain boots because of the sheer amount of sweat they accumilated, and felt your bare feet slap against the cool asphalt of the ground.

 

The clouds covered up the approaching sun, the sky a mesh of dawn's early morning hues, it was - decidedly, an ungodly hour for anyone to be awake unless they had reason to be awake. Even Dwight stopped bothering with asking what you were doing if you caught his earlier patrols, so it was a time when the Sanctuary was actually quite quiet.

 

The air was a bitter cold as a result, but you knew that however cold your toes were - you wouldn't be feeling it for long. The moldy grey shirt was kept on after some small internal debate, and Carl's trousers had been rolled up to above your knees so you could move around as best you could. Keeping your general running speed and cardio was done easily enough by running the circumference of the camp walls from the inside, but strength building was just iron bars and weight bags, sometimes even combined in a heavy, mounted squat or a deadlift. You wondered, briefly, if Sarge would be proud of you. You planned to keep your body in trained condition the best you could, full well knowing that whenever you were on the move, either going from area to area or otherwise captured or kept into one place, you were losing your tight shape. You were aiming to get yourself back on key form since your last time within the Lake House.

 

So admittedly yeah, you were brutal with yourself. The line chalks used to cordorn the areas were sanded down painstakingly in your spare time as you oversaw Eugene, just so you had something to powder your hands with the fight the friction burn you had started to get on your hands from you training so much. You were even able to rig an iron bar pull-up which you'd finish on sometimes. Mostly, you shadowboxed, it was harder without Sarge to actually fight against, but this would be the best way to keep your reflexes good - fighting an invisible enemy, dodging invisible blows, landing invisible ones too.

 

"Fucks sake!" you heard a familiar voice, but you were much too into your training to turn around, if it was an emergency, they'd come over to you.

 

"There is absolutely fuckin no excuse on this green fuckin' Earth for me to be in less shape than you," - you turned, finally ending your session and grabbing the bottle of water you had, drinking it and finishing it in one long series of chugs. You saw Negan standing there, easily carrying one of the heavier iron bars, dressed in his jeans and leather jacket, but he didn't look at all pleased with himself much. You panted, heavily out of breathe and unused to seeing him awake this early.

 

Negan laid eyes on you, seeing the sweat ring around your neck and back, soaking your shirt through and clinging to the black push-up. You instinctively grabbed the least sweaty part of your tank top at the very bottom of your shirt and pulled it right the way up to your forehead while leaning down a bit to wipe off the sweat that was also leaking from beneath your headwrap. Instantly, his eyes drank in the sight of your sweat-shined stomach with harder definition than he saw last time (and he saw you naked often enough).

 

"Your balls are probably bigger than most the guy's here," Negan smirked "-you're making them all look bad,"

 

"What're you....doing... up?" you panted.

 

"You owe me training," he continued to smirk. Yeah - you did, though the more you thought about it, the more you wondered if teaching an already threatening man how to fight properly was a good idea. You thought for a moment, knowing you had no real choice, before nodding. "-and I wanted to see what you actually did this early in the morning at the ass crack of dawn."

 

"Alright, fine. I can show you some things, I guess - to start with. Don't worry about hurting me too much, I'll let you know if you are - with you being bigger and a guy and all - there's always a chance, but I can handle a lot of what you got," you said confidently, before taking a stance.

 

Then you realised you had to teach him that too - which he failed to see the importance of, until, in annoyance, you told him once his movements became more natural from practice, the fighting stance was easiest to move and dodge with, and also made you a thinner target. While he didn't fully believe the first part, finding it a little awkward, he understood the latter - and failed to understand your ability to straif and dodge with ease - you admitted that and the blocking reflexes just happened with time, but taught him some to start with any way.

 

There were also a myriad of kicks and assorted blocks - some of which, admittedly, Negan never even would have thought of, quickly demonstrated. He had to admit, he was impressed, especially seeing just how far your leg could kick - and that your ankle could be within the same range as your ear.

 

He found himself unzipping his leather jacket and dropping it on the floor - it was the second time you'd seen him out of it, but there was something tangenitally attractive about watching him slowly unzip it in front of you. Thank God he couldn't read your thoughts - you could just see the smug smile in your mind's eye if he caught you looking.

 

Negan was, at the heart of things, bigger and stronger than you - and he blocked a kick that didn't have too much momentum in it by making a swift grab for your ankle and motioning it like he was going to twist it but didn't, leaving you awkwardly with your leg stretched out in mid-air, and him holding it.

 

"Usually kicks have more momentum so this isn't a move you can rely on," you said, about to ask for your leg back.

 

"Seems pretty fool proof to me," he grinned, making you raise a brow.

 

Okay. Time to wipe that grin off his face. Without really thinking, you made a quick choice - while training it was okay to hurt each other. So long as you didn't go too far, because he still had that unstableness about him. For however calm it was around you, you never forgot the unbridled fury he'd directed at you in Alexandria, and how his hand felt against your throat. You threw your strength onto both of your hands in what would have been a handstand if Negan wasn't holding your ankle and smugly wiggling it, as if to say "ha-ha, got you!" - this gave you a brief window to lift the leg that had you supported on the ground. It was a split second movement, your barefoot pressing into his chest and kicking hard enough that he let go of your ankle. Both legs reached the floor at roughly the same time - your body reaching full height in a move that looked like half a cartwheel, landing back squarely on the balls of your feet.

 

You heard him wheeze, and quickly booked it over to him. You tried not to kick hard, but you were strong. Really strong. Bodily speaking, women from the waist down were a lot stronger than men on average, and your entire body was heavily trained, so baring that in mind and how unexpected your movement was, it could have actually hurt the man. Despite it being a training atmosphere, a cold seed of worry instantly dropped in your gut - because Negan was...well, Negan.

 

"Shit, I didn't mean to kick that hard," you said, he'd stumbled back and actually fallen on his ass, you only meant to make him stumble, but he lost his footing in surprise. You quickly got to your knees and looked him over, he was wincing a fair bit, but nothing else indicated any pain. He blinked in surprise, feeling your chalky hands on his shirt, shamelessly rolling it up in a movement that made him inhale sharply in surprise, raising a brow. It didn't connect with you at first how intimate it was, because your mind was a litany of curses, along the lines of "shit, fuck, shitfuck, shit!" and wondering if you'd accidentally got the really sensative part of the torso.

 

"I didn't want to get too low in case I got you in the dick but there's this really sensative spot and it's the quickest way to fracture something without even realising until you bend over or go to bed - I'm just checking I didn't bruise you - that's usually a sign, Sorry, sorry - I tried not to kick too hard but I still kick like a fucking mule," you gasped out quickly, clearly frazzled.

 

"Thank you for not getting me in the dick, I need that," said Negan dryly, the pain ebbing. His eyes were mostly focused on your hands, feeling them paw at his naked chest. He had thin but dark chest hair that went down in a neat happy trail down his toned torso. It wasn't as taught or defined as your own, but it was the body of a man who trained in his youth and then just got a little older and did it a bit less - he wasn't bad by any stretch, and his skin was surprisingly soft.

 

You frowned, keeping your thoughts on track, gently pressing with your fingers in the spot where the skin was the thinnest over the ribcage.

 

"Does this hurt?" you asked, seriously, looking him in the face for any sign of pain.

 

"Nope," grinned the man "-I'm pretty sure ya just knocked the wind outta me, no damage to the packaging," he paused "-but feel free to keep on touching me,"

 

You froze, before noticing both hands were now on the flat of his pectorals and you'd rolled the shirt extremely high up, and that you were seeing more of him than strictly necessary. There was a tense moment of locked eye contact which, you didn't know if it was awkward or just plain tense, but instead of being embarassed - which you were - you just slowly rolled the shirt back down with all the grace you could muster. You left some hairs a little white and some loose chalk marks of obvious fingers on his chest, but didn't care.

 

"Arse," you muttered, getting up and not bothering to lend him a hand to his feet just based on his cheekiness.

 

 What an arse. Complete arse. Absolute dickhead. Fuck him.

 

Could he stop being Negan for five fucking seconds?

* * *

 

 

Your first real scavenging run finally happened, it was supposed to happen after your first collection run to Alexandria but - Negan had been overcome with anger and pretty much tied you to a seat in the truck and had you thrown in the box immediately. The first issue you noticed was that the truck roll outs were not quiet, which was probably how Danny got cornered in the first place. They had all the fire power, but it would have been better if they could lessen the use of machine gun fire, still, it cleared out the immediate streets. The houses on the other hand - it just riled up the dead inside. They'd probably end up causing more damage than good, you mused. There was a sniper gun affixed to the open head of the truck, but you left Aaron to take it.

 

You made a gripe for your sledgehammer and hopped out of the truck, feeling strangely powerful in your ability to turn your back on Saviors with guns and trust that they wouldn't shoot you square in the skull. Negan had stayed true to the promise of nobody causing you trouble, he was, if nothing else, a man of his word.

 

"Where you headed?" Aaron shouted. You shook your head as a few of the boys went to take the houses on the left side of a residential area. It was quite a drive just to get out to areas not yet picked clean, but it was worth it.

 

"I'll take the right side, first house. We'll finish the street quicker," you saw Negan turn to look at you, and noticed he had a gun tucked into his belt over his crotch, the hilt peeking up out of his trousers and pressed against his leather jacket. You had to wonder if he purposely picked such an area to store it or if really was a safe way of storing a gun with the safety on if you had no holster. You opted not to ask, but your eyes lingered there - and the last thing you needed was Negan making a joke about it.

 

He caught your stare though, and moved his hand to actually whip the gun out and give it to you, acknowledging you were much more comfortable with a handgun and could do with practicing with it in the field, but you held your hand up and shook your head, silently saying no.

 

"I got it. I'm going to the blue roof house, I work better on my own any way," effectively snubbing him, because frankly, you didn't appreciate him making your concern about hurting him into something weird and sexy. You didn't even know how you even felt about all those remarks. It just gave you a headache to think about, still, the fact that for someone with that many sexual remarks directed at you - he hadn't actually forcefully taken anything from you bodily, even if he took half your shit and most your will to escape. Negan gave you a headache, because first of all...

 

He was Negan. That alone should rule out replying to his advances, the guy was an unstable mess. That wouldn't be what most people thought, but clearly he enjoyed sadism and violence and both of those things could corrupt his judgement despite how terrifyingly smart he could be. Yeah, that's why he had you as his counsel, he was painfully aware of those facts on some level, but you doubted he even understood the full depth of how much his grip on reality could slip if he let it. The reason you could even recognise all this shit in him was because to a degree, it reflected some things that had become personality traits of your own, born of the bloodshed and the agony that came with the great collapse of the world. He was a mess, you were a mess, and two wrongs did not make a right.

 

Point two, he was old. Yeah, that was petty - and sure, he had that weird "old-sexy," thing going on for him, but the last lays you had in human communities had been under extreme strain, out of necessity or lacking much in the way of consent. It turned the whole thing into a fucking chaotic shitstorm. He kept you around because you were amusing and fun, as well as wise counsel, and an oddity - a curiosity. You pretty much felt like a collector's item. All you could do was lump his weird come-ons into the catagory of "Negan being Negan" and hoping that if you ignored it long enough, it'd stop. Power and physical attractiveness did not make up for the fact he was a shitty scumfuck. Sure, he hadn't been a complete shitty scumfuck to _you,_ but he had with everyone else. How long until that was you?

 

You strode towards the blue roof house, lost in thought. It was big, like most American homes, dwarfing yours back in England and making it look like a shoebox. They had white banisters and muddy white steps with furniture that had been slightly turned over, but otherwise fine. There was a disturbing lack of reaction to the groaning and rasping of a rotter - who you guessed was the homeowner, who was - strangely enough, stuck in a wheelchair. Upon seeing you, it flung itself out, and began pawing at the ground, leaving a dirty trail where it's putrifying body dirtied up the ground trying to grab at your ankles to bite them.

 

You couldn't even really blink anymore, bringing down the sledgehammer - you could have just used your foot, his head was now so soft at this point that it felt like shattering a grape under a high heel. Once that was done - you could finally appreciate the house.

 

You stood there, and wondered what it was like before The Rising.

 

Picturing the old man wheeling to his front french window, looking up at the rising sun, a steaming coffee in his lap - the sun rays were still coming in, it was admittedly, quite a beautiful day. Not too cold, not too hot - if not for the body and the turned furniture, it was almost immaculate. There was a pang of sadness in your chest - it would be a long time before the world would be like this. It reminded you a bit of Mr Roger's interior, when you caught the American show on your airplane tv. Just to fill the haunting silence left by the walker, you hummed the tune softly.

 

It would prove to attract another - a woman with grey hair that was in strands now, with deeply sunken eyes. It was sickening to look at, but now it was just the norm, she was tall though, bigger than you. In a swift move, you unsheathed the kirpan and ducked her clumsy leer forward, her slack jaw swinging to get a bite out of you dumbly. The knife stuck in her right knee cap, making her leg collapse and the other follow. Her body fell forwards, and so you could place your boot heavily on her back to keep her pinned down like a butterfly under a needle.

 

Down went the hammer. Like a grape.

 

Still humming.

 

You could feel Negan behind you - because of course he was following you, he couldn't just bugger off and leave you well enough alone, could he? You walked around the couple's bedroom. They had blue sheets on a king size bed - the whole room looked undisturbed, like a happy couple could come and fall into it at any moment.

 

You stood in the door, staring for a second, before forcing yourself inside with relative ease.

 

' _I would have loved to have lived here. This is an American dream home. Was. Was an American dream home. Like in the cartoons and the sitcoms.'_

 

There was a beautiful regal vanity, pawing at it - there wasn't much, just dried up makeup - well - a red lipstick caught your eye, enough that you leaned the sledgehammer against the bed and stopped humming. You must have looked the picture of sanity, you realised sarcastically, seeing Negan in the corner of the mirror's reflection - he'd watched your whole method. Your methodical takedowns, your lack of give-a-shit or hesitation, you struck with a kind of practice that came as easily to you as breathing. It was brutal. It was badass. It was - if Negan had to say it - kind of hot.

 

"Anything?" he asked curiously, swinging Lucille "-I just wanted to see your method," he grinned.

 

He saw it was lipstick as you pulled off the bronze lid, and were greeted with a deep, vintage, gorgeous bloody red that almost seemed brown under certain lights. You felt something in your chest as you stared at it, before wiping it down your wrist a little bit, and you blinked in surprise.

 

"Well I found the only non dried out lipstick in the entire state of Virginia," you said wryly, before simply deciding "I'm keeping it,"

 

Negan snorted - but then again, this kind of shit was what he kept his harem girls well in stock with if they asked for it, he just didn't think you were a lipstick type, and usually everything scavenged got into the truck and divvied up in the stockroom, assigned value and purchased the hard way unless specified otherwise. Negan didn't tell you, you couldn't have it though, and merely remarked on it with a hint of mockery in his tone.

 

"You don't seem like the lipstick type," though the awful thought crossed him that your full, bow lips did look awfully nice just on their own.

 

"It's my mother's shade," you said simply, pocketing it. Negan didn't question it after that, he seemed to get the hint to know when to stop now - he just didn't pay attention to it often, but now he was trying because he could tell he was visibly agitating you. Usually, that wasn't an issue, but it would be nice if you could actually stand to be around him - you were the closest thing to a friend he had apart from Dwight. And he'd probably kill Dwight in a second if he pissed him off enough.

 

"Put it on," it sounded more like a command than Negan being friendly. His eyes didn't leave you - and you felt like you were being scruitinised, somehow this was even more awkward than him holding the towel when you showered. There was a weird, possessive neediness in his voice that you hadn't heard before, enough that you felt a short spike of anxiety that just told you to do it. He was being unpredictable again. You smeared it over your lips, before gently wiping down the bit in the bend of the bow of your lips so it filled all of them a succulent, almost vampiric sort of red-brown that matched your complexion beautifully. No wonder your mother loved this shade so much.

 

You froze as you saw Negan come up behind you in the mirror reflection, his large hands going to your red headwrap and gently undoing it, forcing your dark hair to fall down your back. You frowned and turned your head without moving your body, why was he being so weird?

 

"What're you doing? You're being strange...well, more than you usually are,"

 

He didn't say anything, his hand merely going up to your left bicep, it would have been creepy if you weren't reasonably sure he wouldn't actually hurt you, but you were still wary - too much had happened in the past for you not to be.

 

"You're really fuckin' pretty," he said after a moment of long silence, studying your reflection and running the backside of his other hand down your hair, relishing in the softness against his knuckles. From the neck up you were so feminine, from the neck down your body was treated like it was nothing but a weapon, with muscle beaten into it, as if it could do anything to lessen the fact you were a woman. You felt a heat rise up your skin. This was somehow worse than the sexual remarks, you were used to people being rude about the female form in human communities, but flat out being told your pretty - by Negan no less - in a non sexual way... you weren't sure you could handle it.

 

"Negan?" you said, a fear wheedling into your voice. It was the first time he'd heard it, and he recognised it for what it was - misreading the reasons for why.

 

Of course, he'd followed you, sealed the room and proceeded to act intimate, and compliment you. In truth, he was just lost in that brief moment of innocence he'd never seen in you before when you picked up that lipstick and smiled, he just wanted to see...

 

"I'm not going to do anything fuckin' weird," Negan snapped, a trace of offence in his town "-I'm not fuckin' like that, I just wanted to see what you would have looked like before all this,"

 

You looked up at him in surprise.

 

"Really, why?"

 

"Because I'm fuckin' curious okay? You're fuckin' curious to me. I'm going to know everything about you - remember?" he snapped.

 

Somehow, it seemed to lack the angry tone the original threat in the shower had - when "everything you own is mine" including your secrets had sounded so very imposing.

 

* * *

 

 

Small amounts of food, most of it had spoiled, mostly clothes and tinned goods made out of more chemicals than nutrients were recovered - that disgusting American squeezy cheese was surprisingly, in abundance, and you were greeted with the gross sight of Aaron pouring it directly into his face like it was chocolate mousse or something. Ick. You couldn't wait to get back to the Sanctuary to be honest, you had some things to do like check on the munitions output and primer levels with Eugene before your mandatory check-in with Negan despite the man being under your feet all damn day.

 

You were then surprised to see Carl Grimes hanging around munitions, talking to Eugene. It seemed to have actually increased his output, surprisingly - having someone from Rick's group to talk to actually gave the Dipshit with the Mullet some level of comfort.

 

"Eugene - you can cool your jets, you did good. Get to the communals and get an early night, you can sleep in and I'll wake you up later, with the output you have today nobody will notice if you're behind tomorrow," yeah, you weren't a complete asshole. You cut the Dipshit a break, he was soft and he needed it just from the look of his hands.

 

"Thank you Ma'am," he said softly. Ma'am. Yeah. People were starting to call you that in favour of Deadshot.

 

"Hey Carl, how have you and your dad been? I kept Negan out most the day," you said conversationally as Eugene slowly packed up, observing the pair of you in his periphereal.

 

"He's been running around trying to find a way of trying to get Daryl out," said Carl, looking at you critically "-he's not doing so well in the box,"

 

You grimaced. Poor Daryl.

 

Carl looked a bit broody, even more so when you brought up his dad – it seems he was in two minds, on one hand he loves the hell out of the man but on the other, he absolutely hates what Negan has turned him into.

 

“Anyway, it looks like your patch needs changing, it’s getting a bit muddy looking. C’mon, I know where Carson keeps the gauze and stuff,” you said, boldly reaching for his flannel sleeve and tugging Carl through the Sanctuary. He started covering up his eye again despite Negan’s encouragement, because he could barely stand the sight and feel of it himself. But Enid – she finally saw what it was like underneath and her visceral reaction was so hurtful that he wasn’t sure he’d ever uncover it again.

 

He was largely silent as you rooted around the drawers and handed him some supplies and some scissors, before hearing something drop out of your pocket. It was small, and metallic – for a second he thought it was a bullet, but upon kneeling down, found it a bit too long and thick.

 

“Ah, crap. I forgot I had that in my pocket,” you grinned, taking a small, dark red lipstick out of his hands.

 

“Lipstick?” he said, watching as you opened him to show him what it was for a moment. You just laughed a little at his surprised tone – it was such a useless vanity item and it was even stranger that someone as pragmatic as you would have it.

 

“It’s weird to think there’s nobody making stuff like this anymore, but yeah. Lipstick. Managed to find something not dried up on a scavenge,” you blushed at the ‘are you for real?’ kind of judging look that Carl directed at you.

 

“My mum loved this shade,” you added, glancing away from him for a moment. “Didn’t matter how many she already had, if she saw one in the store she’d have to buy it anyway. She had no impulse control, bless her. And then she’d end up passing them onto me cos she had too many, even though I was too young to wear them,” you laughed mournfully, and suddenly Carl felt a bit guilty.

 

You just grinned at him, before reapplying some on your lips using a reflective surface in the doctor’s office.

 

“Well, it looks nice,” Carl offered, trying to be polite - and in fairness, it did. He glanced over and began to lift up his long tresses of dark hair so it would fall over the long winding bandage he was tieing around his skull to keep the gauze eyepatch in place. "Too bad there's no way of prettying this up," he added, in dry humour - though there was no way of masking the fact he had a massive hole in his face, he couldn't possibly be anywhere near comfortable with it.

 

You glanced over at him, before shrugging and grinning at him - ready to let the tension out of the room like a balloon release.

 

"Yeah there is," you said "-where there is a will, there is a way,"

 

"I'm open to suggestions," said Carl dryly, before frowning as you walked over to him with purpose. He watched as you opened the lipstick up again, and stared up at the fresh, crisp, white square patch that felt like it took up a whole quarter of the boy's face. He scowled when you opened the lipstick and moved it near his face, backing away instinctively.

 

"Not that open, no way am I wearing that," he said firmly, making you snort.

 

"Yeah, I don't think deep red is your shade," you said with a smirk "-but that's not what I'm doing," you moved it higher over his face. "We can definitely pretty it up though,"

 

Carl froze as he felt you grab him by the chin and will him to leer downwards so you were head level with each other, the boy was really gangly for his age, getting his height from his father for sure. He never felt a girl hold his face like this before - even if it was just his chin, brows furrowed. He was looking at you with his one working eye - it following your every movement holding the lipstick. He felt his shoulders go all the way up to his ears on instinct, glazing over awkwardly and staying absolutely frozen and still.

 

"Just keeeep still, Big Blue," you said with a grin.

 

He didn't know what you were doing, and he couldn't hazard a guess until he felt pressure on his eyepatch, and frowned again. He couldn't see or tell what you were doing - he could only see your hand moving against his face and feel the very light pressure. You were doing it for a full three minutes, he could only hazard a guess that you were drawing something on his eyepatch, but it honestly felt like you were colouring his face in.

 

"And done!" you said, pulling back and revealing the lipstick head to have flattened slightly from the drawing you'd done.

 

Carl turned to the reflective surface you'd used earlier and lifted some of his hair back which fell back over the patch, to see your handiwork. His frown stayed, before giving way to a strangely apathetic expression, like he didn't know what to think.

 

"Does this look dumb?" he said after a moment "I feel like it is."

 

You scowled, and did your best not to be mildly offended - of course, it wasn't the most badass thing to do, but clearly his confidence was somewhere in the gutter when it came to the freshly acquired hole in the head. He didn't instinctively hate it, he didn't know that it made much difference either, but he could see that your chest was swelled with pride - and it looked like...something...different, at least. It was enough that he couldn't instinctively tell you he hated it and to get more gauze or make a fresh one.

 

"Oh I get it, you're too manly or something? Honestly, it just makes everything look a little less severe - and - I thought... I mean, ask your dad, I think it looks nice," you smiled, but honestly, it was more than just making an eyepatch look nice. It was the hole in his damn face, clearly, Carl wasn't happy with it, and the fact he was still using gauze and not a proper patch meant it was still healing, so it was still new, and he was still getting used to it. Even your month in the box - it was still fresh, because the trauma was so severe. You didn't ask how it happened, even if you burned to know.

 

Carl just shrugged, glancing away. 

 

"I picked that design because you're a little heartbreaker, I bet," you grinned, but that just seemed to make it worse.

 

"Because having a hole in your face is attractive," Carl sniped, before getting ready to leave - and oh, you were not about to let him embroil himself in teenage angst. He was of course, thinking about Enid's visceral disgust that he couldn't get over it, but how could he expect her to like it, when he couldn't even look at it himself?

 

You frowned, and put the lipstick back in your pocket.

 

"Listen," dropping the humour at of your tone for a second - it was enough to get his attention any way. "Carl." God. You wished you could have seen this coming - this, unlike Negan, you didn't have a preprepared speech for, and wished you had, now all you could do is hope you didn't put your foot in your mouth. "I.. um," you cleared your throat.

 

Yeah, you couldn't convince him that his empty eyesocket was cute. It wasn't.

 

"Listen, I don't know what it's like to lose 50% of your vision, I don't," you sucked in a breathe "-or have to deal with a reminder of it every day in the mirror - but," shit, how could you dilute this in a way that you could bring any kind of empathy to the situation and somehow make this better? "I do know what it's like to lose something from your person, and to know that you can't have it back,"He was staring at you now, like he was looking for some kind of missing appendage that he couldn't see. But something about your tone made a knot of dread appear in his stomach, and rendered him quiet.

 

"And to be reminded of that loss, constantly," you sighed.

 

"And it...it's horrible, and it's shitty, and you wonder if you'll ever move past it and if it'll ever be something that you just stop seeing when you're in the mirror. I don't know how to make that go away, all I can do is try to learn to hate it a little less, every day. So...maybe, that's how it'll be for you. Maybe. So one day - maybe not...any time soon, maybe a month, maybe a year from now, maybe years from now, they'll be a time when we can look in the mirror, and not...feel anything at all."

 

Carl was quiet, and put his hands in his pockets. He wanted to say _thank you - for talking about this with me,_ because in truth nobody had and whoever even so much as tried did it so awkwardly and at such poor timing that all he could do was shut it down. Gabriel tried briefly, and he felt no real interpersonal relationship with the man even if they were friends, so he angrily walled himself up. He thought he could have talked about it with Enid, but it seemed a stranger did him more good, because for the life of him, he could not forget her visceral disgust.

 

There was silence for a while. Today was getting stranger and stranger, when did you become the person to have open-up moments of intimacy? Well, with Carl it made a bit more sense anyway, you were closer to his age for starters, and your very first interaction had rended his first smile in weeks. Sometimes, also, people just needed to talk to a different face to hash things out, because it's awkward to try to talk to other people that really knew you about things. It's why you found yourself occasionally ranting to Aaron about Negan's oddness, not because Aaron was particularly wisened, but because sometimes it had to be unloaded on someone else.

 

"I still don't know why you did all this stuff for my dad and the group," he said.

 

You shrugged.

 

"You had a kid," you said simply, before raising yourself up off of the surface you leaned on. It was getting dark. Negan would be expecting you soon. Again. Gah. "And where I came from - the bayou - there was no children,"

 

There were so many implications already hanging in the air, enough that Carl Grimes's stomach had a knot of complete dread when his mind starting adding two and two together from all the things that you simply did not say, and suddenly, he wasn't so sure he felt good about bitching about the hole in his face.

 

"Not anymore. What I did, and keep doing, is just trying to make the best out of a bad situation, so the children that do live, that do get born into this shitshow - have some sort of hope that's worth clinging onto, otherwise, what's the fuckin' point, Big Blue?"

 

Carl didn't say anything, it was a fair question, he just didn't think about it like that - but the mention of your community before - that made him feel inexplicably queasy.

 

_There's no children anymore._

 

"What's with the 'Big Blue?'" he said, finally, trying to release the tension by radically changing the subject. You turned to him and gave him a weak attempt at a smile, seeing what he was doing. The gangly teen could only handle so much awkward, no matter how badass he was. You reached up over to him, and pat him on his shoulder a few times with a small grin.

 

"The eye you do have, is real pretty," you said with a small chuckle.

 

Carl didn't know what to say to that, except to reply dumbly.

 

"I've never had a nickname before," shit. Smooth Carl. Really smooth - he mentally berated himself - but the statement was so silly and unexpectedly innocent that the tension finally escaped when your chuckle turned into a full blown laugh.

 

It took all of Rick's power not to stare when his son came back to the house that night. At first, he didn't notice - because of Carl's hair, it was Michonne who did, and commented with a rare smile on her face.

 

"Nice patch, did you do that?" because somehow, Michonne couldn't believe that he would, further proven when redness started to rise on his face - despite him trying to stomp down on the urge to be embarassed.

 

"No, Deadshot did it," he snapped, flushing - and then it dawned on Rick. This was perhaps, the first time in years - since before The Rising - that he could see Carl finally starting to act his age again. It was cute, and it was innocent and in any other scenario he knew the wise dad move thing to do would be to ignore it and chuckle about it in private, but just seeing Carl like that, he couldn't help himself. It kindled the first feeling of hope and even genuine joy no matter how tiny, deep in the base of his chest.

 

"It's cute, Carl."

 

There, all over his gauze patch, was obviously red lipstick, drawn into the shape of a heart that was coloured in, with a thick, slightly clumsy but very much legible arrow going through it.

 

"Whatever," Carl grunted, shutting the door behind him as he stomped up to his room.

 

Rick couldn't help it - he laughed, and Michonne could not help but think about how much she wished she could hear that sound more often.

 

Almost nobody laughed anymore.


	8. Thinking Dead

 

There was finally the day that everything stopped, when the luck ran dry, when it all ran dry. Of course it had to, and you thought it'd be the day that Negan stopped being amused by you, the day that he would stop listening to your counsel, and you'd been there for a total of four weeks, an entire month of stability. Hilltop, The Kingdom, the Alexandrians - they had not known that it could have such a profound effect on their lives. Now it was like there was some sort of line that was closing between you and the Grimes family, and with you and Negan. But there was a horrible stagnation between you, and it happened every time he kept trying to get closer to you. You drew a line, you said - you didn't ask him to stop coming onto you, and you should have, but the most you ever said was 'give it a rest' - which would work for an hour, but then continue.

 

"What's the deal?" Carl had asked you one day. "-With you and Negan,"

 

There was a palpable disgust underlying it, but mostly confusion. He still had the arrow through the heart on his eye, he hadn't changed it. Until that patch got dirty, he awkwardly leaned down and said if you wanted to do it again, you could. He did it outside too, on the porch of his accomodation in the compound. Negan was mocking him gently, in a manner that Carl found too familiar for someone he ultimately wanted to kill.

 

_'Awww shit, ain't that adorable? You're making me jealous'_

 

 

"There is no 'Me and Negan'," you said with a frown. "There's Negan. Negan and his wives. Negan the Saviour. Negan the Boss, but no Me-and-Negan," you elaborated.

 

Yeah. Wives.

 

"I don't like how he talks to you," said Carl with a scowl, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

"He talks to everyone exactly how he wants to, Big Blue. Does what he wants too. I'm a very shitty filter on what is ultimately an unstable man," you said simply. You had more clarity than Carl thought you would have, he underestimated your familiarity. Carl glared at his shoes as the two of you sat on the porch together in silence. He was here a lot more than Hilltop, seemingly having given up on repairing his friendship with Enid, it seemed like you were a placeholder, filling a void. "I pick my battles, and I know that he's more pragmatic than he is unstable - if you can believe it. That's how I get what I need from him. Unless he's....angry," you furrowed your brow - recalling the incident in Alexandria.

 

"Then it's anyones guess. The man's a hurricane when he's angry. I know the type. I know that the Alexandria incident was a lucky break. I know it could have been a lot worse."

 

"Worse? He put you in a box for a month!" Carl bit out - you frustrated him in the fact that you weren't angrier about it. That you just accepted how things were. He despised your complacency, the fact that you lacked the fire in your belly to change things the way that Carl wanted to change things. "The only reason he let you out is because he wanted to use you for his stupid munitions factory!"That stung slightly, for some reason, but it was true.

 

There was a silence between you, before you sighed in exasperation.

 

"What do you want from me Big Blue? To kill him in his sleep?" that ignited the fire in his eyes. Yes. Of course. That's what Carl wanted. To take down the man who'd figuritively castrated his father's spirit and destroyed him, and killed his friends, and ruled with an iron fist. "And then what? A power vaccum? Then what, someone better - or maybe worse, than Negan steps up."

 

"Or maybe things get better, or maybe they get worse before they do. Carl, this compound is made up of all the hardest people that Negan could find, say what you want about him, but he is the thing that keeps these people in check. He makes them swear that they're like him, that they're _Negan,_ he's an ideal as well as a person. What do you think happens when you take that away? You think that disappears with him?" you gestured to the entire compound from where you were sitting, before leaning back, and sighing. All these people walking with purpose, all of these people with some kind of worth to them that made Negan keep them.

 

"Listen, Carl. You can tell your dad this - because I know he probably put you up to asking me, but if he's gone, I don't know that he could possibly fill Negan's boots. With your people? Yeah. These people? I don't....know. The way he acts, sometimes, no offence, he walks like he's a ghost of a man."

 

"I know," said Carl, a thick amount of bitterness in his tone, that honestly felt like it was directed at you as much as his dad.

 

"What I'm saying is, better the devil you know, than the one you don't."

 

More silence. You knew he wasn't happy with your answer.

 

"About what you said to me that day," Carl began, before shifting uncomfortably, reaching around his pocket, and getting something small out and sliding it over to you. It looked plastic, and upon closer inspection, you thought it was a fake clamshell. You picked it up and saw it was a very, very pale pink, and slowly opened it up after some fiddling, only to be greeted by two mirrors, one that zoomed in, and the other which was normal. To your surprise, it didn't even have a crack in it.

 

"I went on a run earlier, I thought you'd like this - to go with your...lipstick," he said awkwardly. For someone who was displeased with you, and angry at your answers, he couldn't be angry at you - because you raised a point. It was, Carl realised, exactly how you dealt with Negan. You told him things he didn't want to hear, but made sure the logic had no flaws in it. "I found it and I thought... after what you said, that maybe you....get used to your reflection a bit more."

 

Yeah, Carl wasn't good at touchy feely stuff, and to be honest, he could probably do with it more, but you smiled and accepted it. It was an awkward friendship at best, but it was something. You sucked in a sharp breathe - you spent enough time avoiding the subject with Negan, you didn't really want to get into with Carl - a kid - albeit only a few years younger and nearly an adult himself. You already felt like you said too much.

 

"Carl, if it's okay, I don't want to talk about this with you. Or anyone. Ever. Can we just watch the sunset before everyone on night rounds gets up and starts making noise?"

 

"Okay."

 

He watched you train when the sun went down for an hour, he joined you - briefly, but lacked a lot of the strength that Negan had, his gangly form was surprisingly versatile, and you taught him how to block a punch - focusing on that and trying to train that reflex into him for an hour or so, until the pair of you were panting, and it was getting too dark to see very well even with the porch light on. You kicked his hat off at one point and made him go chasing after it - it was funny, for a second. You almost forgot the horrible chat you'd had - but you knew Carl was probably still disappointed, but at least some aggression was let out.

 

Negan still made you report to him before bed, he'd even wait for you to arrive if you finished late. It was spectacular how you managed to avoid all of the personal advancements he tried to make towards you. Usually, you would eat together, which only started to make proper sense now he was training at the same time as you - so he was usually the same level of exhausted by the end of the day because of how early he would have to get up to do it with you. But he always turned up. Always.

 

Today's meal was a strange meat which you thought might have been horse, mixed with fresh vegetables and made into some kind of a salty soup. It wasn't bad, you thought, but you could probably do better in the kitchen with all of those supplies the compound had. You sat across from him, slowly and silently eating, waiting for him to start talking. Most people would be shitting themselves in his presence, but you were used to it, used to his volatile nature.

 

"I love these little moments," he said with a smile. "How're you finding it here?"

 

Again, with the trademark deceptive kindness.

 

"It's efficient," you said tightly - which didn't really convey anything that Negan wanted to know, but it showed him that you still didn't trust him as far as you could throw him, and it really bothered him, because he needed more from you. Negan chuckled humourlessly, and put his spoon down with a gentle clink, placing the bowl on the coffee table between you.

 

"Cold as ice. I like it."

 

You gave him an inscruitable look, Lucille was placed on the left of the sofa, and he proceeded to cross one jean clad leg over the other, looking at you like he expected you to start performing for him, or something. Honestly, it felt like everyone around you had expectations for you, and that you had to fulfill them. You'd become instrumental in the mechanisms of the compound and you really didn't know how you felt about that.

 

"It occurs to me that you don't like talking to me very much," said Negan, lip curling into an expression of distaste, that for some reason raised the hairs on the back of your neck. You couldn't predict his emotions very well, and that made you nervous. "In fact, for all the time we spend together, you really go out of your way to actually avoid talking to me. Now, I don't know if it's cos you're a real big fan of pissin' me off, or if you just really don't like me very much. Now. I can hardly fathom why, because I've treated you well, ain't I?"

 

"You bludgeoned my mother, you kidnapped me, you force-roped me into your compound and you stuffed me in a box where I pissed in the same cup I drank out of for about a month straight," you said tartly, folding your arms under your chest and looking at him critically. "You give me the allusion of choice but you know I don't actually have one. Sorry if I don't feel like going to Doctor Negan to talk about my feelings, but you are nobody's favourite person,"

 

Negan snorted, shaking his head.

 

"Cheeky bitch," he sighed "-I see your points, but I maintain I was still being very nice in only taking your dead momma as payment for killing Danny, who I'll remind you was very much alive, useful and not the living dead, unlike your old lady,"

 

You grimaced - yeah it was true but you hated how smug he sounded, and looked. He was just the epitome of smug - to be honest.

 

"You have a fucked up idea of nice."

 

"You have a fucked up idea of what qualifies as 'alive' " he retorted, before laughing - this time, outright. "I can't believe I'm qualifying this shit with you."

 

"Can I go to bed yet?" you asked, annoyance oozing in your tone. He seemed like he wanted to say something to you, but he couldn't quite figure out how to word it, and simply dismissed you after both of you had finished eating. It was one of those times where he felt a little bit human with you, even if conversation was strained, the banter was there, even if it had currents of discomfort. There was a fearlessness about you, a bluntness that Negan could not get anywhere except from anyone but himself.

 

"Yeah, yeah, go to bed. It can wait."

 

It? What the hell was 'It' ? The asshole sure knew how to leave you with an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Maybe he'd answer you in the morning, during training.

 

* * *

 

 

So Negan didn't tell you in the morning, in fact, he was painfully quiet with you, which would ordinarily be fine - up your alley even because you spent most of your time trying to get Negan not to bother you. But now the on time you actually wanted him to talk to you, he was painfully neglectful - if anything, it was a dose of your own medicine, refusing to give the details over that you so sorely wanted.

 

Fine. Whatever.

 

There was going to be another scavenging run and you were trusting Eugene to be watched by Linda while you went on the run, at least, that's what was supposed to happen. Dwight came over, his blond hair sticking to the burned side of his face as he ran the length of the camp to find the group before they rolled out.

 

"Negan, we have a problem,"

 

It all devolved from there. It all went to hell in a handbasket, it was that moment where your luck just proceeded to run dry. It wasn't Negan losing patience with you, it wasn't you no longer being a novelty, it wasn't even you fucking up. You hadn't done anything wrong, nobody had done anything wrong, Hilltop hadn't acted up, neither had the Alexandrians, events just unfolded in such a way as to fuck you all over. It was the nature of things.

 

You had rolled out in Dwight's truck with Negan, who had insisted on dragging his "little badass" - Carl, and Rick along for the ride, because he liked keeping Rick where he could see him. Michonne seemed to travel between the compound and Hilltop but mostly stayed at the Hilltop, and was thankfully - mercifully - gone for this. It was perhaps the only break that Rick had been cut - that the woman he was currently romantically entangled with didn't go back to Alexandria, but instead went to check in on Maggie and Enid.

 

At first, Negan thought it was a revolt, which would have made sense. Not to you though.

 

"No, we have Rick's people - you know they wouldn't - if any group was going to, it'd probably be Hilltop, right? The Kingdom maybe, but not Alexandria. They wouldn't, not after last time, it doesn't make sense - Negan, I'm telling you it doesn't make sense," you said insistently, watching him stuff the gun back into his belt and Rick quietly exhale a breathe. It had been a very tense ride.

 

"I have no fucking guarantee of that, all we know is, we sent guys to collect, because we were going to The Kingdom tonight, and our guys - they don't come back at the designated time. Which means, there is a fucking problem. I run a tight fucking ship, a fucking flawless ship, do you hear me?" Negan snarled. The air had turned tense, even Dwight didn't bother to put on his shitty rap CD, it was just you, Dwight, the Grimes family, and Negan - and all the ragged, nervous breathing that accompanied it. God, you wished it had been a revolt. You really, really wished it had been a revolt. You wished Negan hadn't underestimated what it was. You wished there'd been more men. more guns. That he hadn't been so arragont as to assume that whatever the problem was, that he could have sorted it out himself.

 

If that had been the case, maybe this wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't be there. You wouldn't be struggling. You wouldn't be feeling that tell-tale hand over your face. The tightness in your chest, that struggle for air that you knew all too well. 

 

Negan had rolled into camp, to a sight that was very, very familiar to him - of all the citizens of Alexandria, on their knees in the centre of town by the sheets of metal that kept the walkers out, with their hands behind their heads. At their mercy. He realised, dully - that he was the one who took their guns away, and so he was partially the reason that this was happening. He realised, far too late, that he miscalculated gravely, and that this - simply put, was not an Alexandrian revolt.

 

The women were in one corner, and the men were in the other, gender seperated. Negan had rolled out first, swinging Lucille - walking through the seperated piles of people curiously, towards several black clad figures.

 

"What do we have here?"

 

The man that Negan had been closest too - a brown haired, rustic looking gentleman with a large machine gun and several of his men - _his men -_ that he sent to collect, quite simply were dead. They had tried to regain control of the situation, as Negan would have expected them to - and they were dead. Their brains, just pouring onto the asphalt like a knocked over can of beans - it was quite disgusting to look at, if he had weaker constitution, he would have been a bit sick.

 

"You must be Negan," the man smiled. He spat out a toothpick near Negan's feet - coincidentally, right into the brain matter, which even he found profoundly disrespectful - as it was one of _his guys_ \- and shit, he figured, this had to be some poetic fucking irony.

 

This must have been what it was like to be on the other side of Lucille, he mused.

 

"Just the man I wanted to see! Cos - ah, these lovely, friendly people over here, have informed me that you have something of mine," - this fucker, Negan mused. What an asshole. He even dressed like an asshole. He was dressed to the nines for what was ultimately the great fucking collapse, he was probably the only person in the state, or maybe all of America, who had the gall to dress in a three piece fucking suit.

 

The only thing that was off about it, was the slight bit of blood dripped onto the collar, in the shape of a little oval - a thumb print, the only indicator that something was off. Hells, there was something really wrong with this picture. Enough that even Negan was put on edge - not scared, no no no, very few things scared Negan, but the uncertainty put him on edge, and, he decided - he REALLY did not like being on the back foot.

 

"And what might that be, asshole?" he swung Lucille at his side - and caught the man staring at it appreciatively, before silently raising his hand in an L-shaped gesture, his thumb out, and fore finger, it was quite insulting, Negan realised, like he was making the _loser_ gesture from the 90s. He frowned, before freezing over entirely, glancing up and almost going cross-eyed as something darted between the space by his fingers.

 

A long, red, beaming light, directly between Negan's eyes from the top of one of the Alexandrian homes - from the sight of a gun that definitely did not belong to an Alexandrian, because of who was wielding it - someone he didn't recognise - and the fact he'd taken all their guns (which he was now starting to very much regret). Negan dropped Lucille unceremoniously - not something he would have done, with how much he treasured that stupid thing.

 

He had a sniper trained on him.

 

You stood behind Rick, and Carl - the tall pair, watching between their shoulders that was happening, feeling your heart burst out of your chest almost when you caught the familiar formation of the terrified Alexandrians. Rosita glanced at you - before glancing away, glaring at the asphalt ground.

 

This was how you got into the position you were currently in. You were screaming - you could see Carl and Rick were forced onto their knees too - and the man had you in his tremendous, familiar grip. You'd jumped out from behind the pair when you'd seen the light of the sniper land between Negan's eyes. The second he died, it would be a shitshow, and you knew it. Too much at stake. Too much.

 

You swallowed the overwhelming sense of dread, your scream bouncing off of every surface as you felt it claw out from the base of your throat.

 

" ** _Shax, don't!"_**

 

That was when your luck - finally - had run the fuck out.

 

The man whistled appreciatively, moving his fingers so they were no longer providing a sight on Negan's forehead, now that the man holding the gun from the house window had his sight properly trained between the other man's eyebrows. He opened his arms up, smiling widely and moving his hands that did a universal "come here" gesture, the smile reaching all the way up to his grey eyes.

 

" _There_ you are, princess! Come give daddy a hug."

 

* * *

 

 

 

Trackers. They must have sent trackers. They had to be really desperate to follow you out this far, they had to be. You were marginally relieved not to see Evelyn or Chuck, but they sent the worst thing besides themselves - the man they dubbed their honourary _son._ His name was Shax, or rather, Shakil - he was a 6"7 man who was made up almost entirely of muscle and fat, he was strong - built like a brickshit house, really. You wished they could have sent Riley - a friendlier face. Anyone. Just not Shax.

 

You stood there in front of the pile of Alexandrians who had their hands behind their head, looking at you as you stood there, hands at your sides and colour very quickly draining out of your face.

 

"Might I remind you that if'n you're fond of anyone here, you might not want to keep me waiting," he said.

 

You felt your heart sink so hard you wondered how it didn't fall out of your ass. Nervously, you walked over to him, nothing but the sounds of panicked breathing and your shuffling footsteps could be heard. You walked until your face was chest level with the gigantic man - who was even bigger than Negan. He was just big. Really big. He brought his arms around you and squeezed, hard - and it became very apparant it wasn't a hug when you began to wriggle aggressively as he tightened up.

 

"You've got a little more fight in you than the last time we did this," he grinned, and placed his chin over your shoulder, smirking at Negan in a way that almost made _his_ skin crawl.  "Mind you, I like it when they have a little wriggle in them."

 

You felt a bit sick, it was Carl who snapped first when he heard that, the greasiness was just too much for even him to abide by, and the things that you'd told him - or rather, left unsaid, had made him snap at Shax's words.

 

"Let her go!" he hissed.

 

"You better shut your boy up before he loses the other eye," said one of the other suit clad men, who stood beside Shax at a smaller height, but looked equally nasty, his hair tied into a tight pony tail and had a long, thin shotgun in his hands. Rick glanced at Carl beseechingly, before nodding once at the man - shit. Shit. Shit.

 

**Shit.**

 

Rick glanced at Negan, who was currently standing with his hands in the air, with Lucille by his ankles, eyes utterly focused on the red beam of light, occasionally breaking to look at you. This might be the one time where Rick actually felt himself on the same page as Negan, because whoever these people were - it wasn't going to bode well for anyone involved.

 

"Or what?" Shax chuckled at the young lad with the cowboy hat. "You going to make me, billy badass?"

 

You felt his grip around you tighten, your body going limp. There was no point. You just had no make sure nobody wound up dead. The dread curled up in your stomach. You were going to go back. God. You'd rather die instead of go back. At that moment, you were contemplating how much water that statement held. You knew what would happen if you went back to bayou - the second you were in Shax's truck. You knew what was going to happen.

 

You looked at Carl in a panic, shaking your head. Mouthing _no._

 

_No. No. No._

 

He saw your eyes glistening under the light, and the way Shakil held you - your entire body was suspended off the ground, crunched against his chest, he turned you around so they could see the raw terror on your face.

 

Negan could say he'd never seen that expression on you before, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to see it again. You could feel Shakil's heartbeat against your neck, you could feel his gigantic hands, his stupid, strong hands and his strong arms but there was no comfort in how he held you, just unremitting strength that felt like a vice. You wished your feet could touch the fucking ground. You wished. You could see some Alexandrians turn their heads to look at you, but few people could hold your stare, others, were stuck looking - like they couldn't pull their eyes away from the horror, like the air of your terror was sucking them in. Carl was one of those people - as was Rick.

 

"You got me. You have me. Let these people go, please - " you felt one arm grapply around your neck, tightening under your chin and making you gasp slightly. Numbly, your hand reached for your kirpan - remembering you left the sledgehammer in Dwight's truck, you grimaced. You tried - quite clearly to the people staring at you - to get your fingers around the blade. You don't know what you'd have done. He probably would have shot someone, but you would have ran first for Negan, knocking him out the way or hoping he'd move. People could scatter.

 

Someone would probably get shot. It was a stupid plan.

 

Shakil easily took the kirpan out of the sheathe, noticing you try to grip it in his vice-like hold.

 

" _GET! A load! Of this! Silly! Bitch!_ " he cackled, enunciating each little part, holding the kirpan in his right hand, his arm curled around your waist. He moved it up briefly, forcing your tank top to ride up as he awkwardly passed the kirpan from his right to his left hand - which had been around under your chin. He reasserted his grip, moving the arm that was under your chin to go beneath your chest, pushing your breasts up through your shirt.

 

"Ya'll are lucky I know her so well! Bet she would have shived me in the fucking thigh and all you sons of bitches would have shot!" he cackled, like he'd told a very funny joke, with some laughter from the man beside him.

 

"Let her go!" Carl snarled again, his eyes trained on the kirpan, before he felt Rick's hand slap over his face and pull his entire body against his - desperately forcing the boy to keep his mouth shut. The desperateness about his actions seemed to be enough to stop the young boy getting in trouble. Your heart was pounding - and Shakil could feel it against his arm even through all his clothes. You froze, feeling the coolness of the blade going up your shirt, which had already ridden up, exposing sweat-drenched abdominals.

 

Shakil tilted his head innocently, smiling gently, his grey eyes glittering with a faux sense of kindness, and humanity - but there was none there. None really. His tone took on a slight hacking cough, a throaty, grungy, smoked-a-solid-fifty-a-day kind of cough to his already grungy, greasy tone.

 

"Oh, now, now," he glanced at Carl, Rick, the Alexandrians, and Negan - whose expression could only be described as muted fury. " _Now."_

 

The blade went up further, you could feel the tip of it in your diaphagram, between your breasts, pushing at the weakest part of the material of the dark push up brassier - you could feel how the air had become suffocating, a redness seeping up in your skin as you felt your breasts heave, and the material sag.

 

This wasn't your first rodeo, but it was the first time it was in front of people who didn't _know_ how the bayou functioned. You couldn't stomach to look at any body - feeling Shakil's breathe against your neck, his arms pushing up your breasts.

 

"You're not going to get _pouty,"_ his tone a greasy, almost heady sort of tone, that made your stomach knot so much it hurts. You wouldn't be surprised if you felt his tongue on your neck, just for shock value, now he'd pulled up up against his body enough that his nose was closer to your headwrap, he could have moved you like a fucking doll with how short you were in comparison.

 

You could feel the push up material sag as it fell through your pushed-up shirt to the ground, the severed cups on the floor by your feet. You grimaced, and started wriggling again, feeling the humiliation creeping up on you.

 

" _Over one little..."_

 

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the hand holding the knife go up and start touching your naked breasts, the cool material of the blade gliding over your skin, making careful not to cut any part of you - the man was meticulous in his touch, you felt a bile kicking in the back of your throat, ears positively burning now.

 

" _...British bombshell..."_

 

He squeezed your breast.

 

 _"...Are you...?"-_ a certain mockery in his tone.

 

You went limp, feeling him move the hand away finally, put the kirpan in one of his own pockets, before pulling at your headwrap, letting your long, dark hair fall down your shoulders. There was silence as they watched Shakil wrap your torso in it, binding your hands, and all but throwing you to the other man.

 

"Put her in the truck. That shiny one they came in - bet it's ripe full of gas. We'll be takin' that and leaving you kind folk to your duty." Shax paused, before smiling, and inclining his head politely in a rather Southern gesture at the women of the camp, if he had a hat, Negan would have no doubt he'd have tipped it.

 

"We'll even let you keep your women folk. Thank ya kindly for your cooperation."

 

They took you away, screaming, with only the severed bra on the ground, left in your wake.

 

 

 

 


	9. Breaking Birdy

 

 

_“We missed you back home, you’re gonna make Evie so happy…”_

 

The highway kept on rolling – the smooth roads didn’t do anything to soothe you like they usually did, nor the monotonous hum of the engine. You could see the pile of headwrap to the left of your face – you were too good, too good at breaking free. So now you were subject to stabbing pain from both of your wrists and your ankles, a warm sensation trickling around the bone that jutted forward in wrist and ankle joint, and a similar sensation down your thighs. Though at least the pain from the waist down wasn’t accompanied by metal. Shakil really did hate you trying to fight it, though he did enjoy the fair bit of wriggling and struggle, a thin, metal barb wire cable wrapped around your wrist, and your ankles. Your boots in a corner by the sledgehammer, along with Carl’s trousers. The shirt you wore had been torn up from the back, and so it peeled open and fell either side of your torso in small scrap piles. All you could see was the floor, pressed up against the left side of your face, your body lurching forward periodically with every heaving grunt.

 

“ _But first….you have to make me happy…”_

A white-hot sort of pain spread through your gut, but all you could hear was the sound of your own grinding teeth, wishing your body could just trap the man and snap his fucking cock straight off. There was pain, but it was physical, rudimentary, _expected –_ it hurt, but was a pain you were intimately familiar with, and if that was all, your body could almost switch off and wait for it to be over. You had a method for dealing with it, when it happened this often – you had to. The pile of maroon built up around your wrists and ankles, you felt his hands digging into both of your thighs. With every lurch of the hulking man against you, you felt your face pressing up against the wall of the truck.

 

“ _Gotta warm you up for Chuck!”_

 

A bile rose in your throat, the sort of brokenness in your stare boiled into something else, the white-hot pain feeling like a fire that was curling in your gut, threatening to over pour from your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your ears. Like an overwhelming pool of anger. You’d been with other people. You’d been in violent, fear-ridden human communities ruled with an iron fist, and not once had you been hurt in the way that you were being hurt right now. You were important, _you were worth more than this –_ your eyes wrenched open and glanced at the shotgun in the corner. You really would rather fucking die than go back, and as an hour had rolled by – because yes – he insisted on stretching out this torture for as long as his own body could allow, never mind yours – the more you realised that you were away from Alexandria, probably Hilltop, and definitely the Compound. You didn’t know about the Kingdom. The hope, was slowly, starting to wither. The resentful rage focusing on the shotgun – as soon as you could – this was all going to be over. You’d rather die than go back to the bayou, and you knew full well that the cost of rescuing you would be far, far too much for one, single person.

 

Your body lurched angrily as the truck skidded to a halt, enough that you heard your sledgehammer slide slightly on the ground, out of your vision.

 

"Fuck," Raoul, the man driving, cursed.

 

"What's the problem?" Shax grunted, dismounting you and leaving your body crudely where it was, bound in the barb wire that he'd found in the back of the truck, ass-up and feeling absolutely torn into pieces, missing the look of boiled over anger in your face.

 

"We got a situation,"

 

* * *

 

 

 

You didn't know what was happening, but you knew Shax had stopped, and the truck had. Raoul had grabbed the shotgun, and Shax had grabbed the machine gun. Sunlight beamed into the truck as the opened the back doors, before closing them shut once more. You could hear noises outside - what sounded like a megaphone. It sounded, funnily enough, like a stick-up. You saw, roughly, before Shax slapped your head down to look at the floor, that the bayou had rocked up to Alexandria with five trucks, if you included the one they stole, but they came with a horrific amount of fire power, as they fully intended on leaving more than they came with. You had no doubt they'd have brought more if they had to, but gas was getting harder and harder to come by.

 

Chances are they were being stuck up by another group of survivors, and were going to be forced to pay a road toll of some of their supplies before being allowed to pass through. You'd seen a group of junkyard looking rats doing it as you walked through the herd with your mother on your way to cross the state line.

 

' _I've had enough.'_

 

You wiggled with all the strength you could to the pile of shredded trousers, grimacing and trying open the pockets with your bound together wrists. The lipstick rolled out first, but then, the clamshell mirror.

 

You sighed with relief, and then, with all the strength you had, smashed it.

 

_'I've had enough.'_

 

It was like you were functioning in a complete haze - a haze of anger. You were being afforded a rare opportunity, and yes, Raoul and Shax had their guns, but - you glanced at the sledgehammer left in the truck _you had a chance -_ and had, over the span of the hour, given up on the idea of living in the bayou again. Death was preferable. Sometimes, being dead, was honestly better. You grabbed the broken bits of mirror, and with some work, rubbed them against the weakest part of the metal as hamhandedly as possible.

 

It didn't seem to be doing enough good, so eventually, you pulled your wrists up to your lips, opened your mouth - and clamped your teeth down on the thinnest part of the wire. You put it between your lip, feeling a barb flick out and cut your lower lip like a rose thorn, blood gently dripping down your chin.

 

_'I'VE - HAD - ENOUGH!'_

 

You heard a twang, and felt a lash of pain on your chin - the rest of you felt like it was on autopilot. Like you'd become glazed over with the outpouring of anger you'd had boiling over an hour. You felt your hand go over the hilt of the sledgehammer before you even registered your mind telling you to pick it up. The bloody underwear which had soaked up a lot of the blood the wrap around your ankles had cut out, were pulled up. You severed the binding around your ankles with more ease and raw force, though it made your hands cut severely. Very slowly, hesitently, you opened the back door of the truck. You'd glanced over the empty driver's seats to see well more than five vehicles surrounding the highway. But nobody had come out. All you could see was Raoul with his hands behind his head, shouting.

 

When you came around from the side of the truck with terrifying silence. Your feet made contact with the hot, burning road that sizzled under the Virginia heat, it felt good and distracted from the sensation of trickling liquid from your ankles. Looking out, you saw several armoured trucks surrounding the group from the bayou. The ones that had been riding behind you had been seperated by trucks that had driven verticially and cut off Dwight's old truck from everyone elses.

 

You saw several familiar figures with their hands behind their heads, who you figured were riding in the trucks which had been cut off - but you focused on the people you recognised. Raoul, and Shax - who were trying to reason with a strangely metallic voice which had become distorted from the speaker which had been jerry rigged onto one of the armoured trucks.

 

You squinted at them, but couldn't make out the people inside - and noted that they either didn't notice you, which was unlikely, or didn't give two shits about someone who had a weapon that wasn't a gun.

 

You were keenly aware that once you brought this standoff to boil, people would probably die, including, and you didn't care.

 

_You'd had enough._

 

This might have been your last moment, your body caked in sweat, with bits of blood dripping to the floor and down your legs. Either side of the wide road were lines of defunct cars, many empty, some with the dead in, lurched over the steering wheel, or walkers, groaning and pressing their faces up against the window. The kind of anger that was brimming through your veins carried the kind of adreniline that pumped through young hearts when news would break of teenagers performing tremendous feats of strength and horror on drugs, the kind of anger at a situation that would drive a mother to try to lift a car with her bare hands if it meant getting her child out. It was an ancient, old emotion that was so seldom tapped into in people, that had boiled over.

 

It felt like a dream mostly, like you were going to wake up and still feel your face getting pushed into the wall of the truck with sickening rhythmic lurches as you felt him inside of you. You heard the sound of a car door opening and shutting, but you did not turn around. Your anger had you focused on Shax - on his back, your hair sticking to your face and distorting your vision.

 

You weren't even sure how you managed what came next, you weren't even sure you would ever manage such a clean, exact, precise move. It helped that Shax was on his knees, you had been swift and silent, gently prodding him so he turned around. You could hear nothing in your own ears anymore, not the doors opening and shutting, not the shouting, not the footsteps - nothing - your thumb and forefinger were perfectly apart, and in the split second that Shax had turned his head, you had driven them forward with every bit of tremendous strength your body possessed.

 

You could feel the sensation of bone and muscle in the space between your thumb and forefinger of where his nose was. You could feel his head vibrating almost from the screams he'd emitted, his arms flailed forward to push you off, but you lifted him with all the strength your legs had, taking the fact he was absolutely blindsided with pain, and dragged him to the closest defunct car that you had seen.

 

It had been one sickeningly clean movement, smashing his head into the passenger seat window and the sound of glass shattering finally piercing the haze over your senses. You felt the glass falling and cutting your knuckles a bit, but you didn't care. It was, at it's heart, a sort of psychopathic break, demonstrating the kind of native strength that would only come out under heavy narcotics. You dragged the back of his head against the bottom of the window, feeling it pick up the glass edges and embed themselves into the back of Shax's skull.

 

He screamed more, you could feel a squishy sensation under your fingernails - vessels, throbbing, blood - his eyes - just absolutely ruined by the sheer force you'd plunged into his face with. You lifted his head out of the window, gliding it to the driver's side, before violently plunging it into that window too, and again, scraping up all the subsequent glass under the back side of his skull.

 

It was at this point, Shakil had stopped screaming, but you were still dragging his tremendous body with festering, foreign range, dragging the back of his skull across the front of the defunct car like a rag doll, all the way across the bonnet. There was a thick pile of red, mixed with bits of flesh that looked slightly black because of the clumps of Shakil's hair, which had soaked up a lot of blood. You dragged it along the bonnet leaving a long smear of maroon until his face dropped out of your hands and you'd finally run out of car to smash him against.

 

His tremendous body was in a pile near the front, his eyes no longer visible under pools of red that had filled them like a pothole after it rained, his jaw was slack, and open, like he was screaming - but nothing would come out. He did not turn, so he wasn't a walker - he was alive, probably - but had more than likely passed out from the pain.

 

Good.

 

You felt a bit of eye dripping from your fingers of your now free hand, the Virginia sun bleating down on you. It was disgusting - what you'd done - but you'd done it. You had your last bit of agency come back, you'd taken it, and you'd taken it out on the man who'd been mounting you for a steady hour. If these people were going to kill you - you mused - you were ready. Swinging the hand that weakly gripped the sledge, it was simple and perhaps, far too quick for what men like Shax deserved.

 

You brought it down on his head, knowing he wouldn't see it coming.

 

It was more painless than he deserved, immediate, though not at all soft - like the walkers who'd been dead a while. You felt the crack, you felt the blood splatter over your naked legs, you felt freshness of his body pushing back against the sledgehammer as you'd brought it down with all your strength and all gravity had to offer, essentially, caving it in, in a single, deadly blow.

 

The adreniline started to leave you now, you were panting, your hair having fallen over your face fully as you brought the hammer down and crushed the large man, whose head was merely a splat in the road. You could hear your heart pounding, and your hands were covered in blood, some of it was yours, but on your right - where you'd dragged Shakil's skull, was mostly his. Clumsily, feeling a tremor take you all over as the high level of exertion finally struck you, your hand reached for your face and pushed the hair back from your face with your open, bloody palm.

 

You remember screaming something, despite feeling the weakness take you.

 

Blood spread across your face and into your scalp as you did it, but you didn't care. Your distorted vision starting to clear, your eyelashes clumped with tears and freshly acquired blood, you stood bowlegged in front of several trucks, with Shax's brain matter pooled closely to your left ankle.

 

" _....Come at me, you yank shits!"_ you snarled. _Y_ our face, now smeared upwards with blood from your palm like war paint. You could only wonder what you must have looked like.

 

It wasn't until the familiar smell of baked leather got under your nose that your knees buckled - and the haze seemed to lift. You lifted your head up, chin pressing slightly into a hard, steely belt. Negan was standing over you, and you were on your knees. You felt a warm had over the left side of your face, catching some blood onto the flesh. You looked up in disbelief, a sort of hysteria washing of you - you hadn't recognised the trucks, and you didn't know how it was possible, but you weren't going back to the bayou.

 

You weren't even going to die.

 

You remember laughing, feeling relief sweep all over you, and something warm running down your face and mingling with the blood, and then an uncomfortable burble of snot coursing from your nose to your lip. You remember laughing until you cried and somehow, managing to gurgle out the words "About time," - before you felt something heavy settle over your shoulders, and your body lift from the ground.

 

_About time._

 

You felt the warm leather coming over you. Your naked body had stood there in nothing but a pair of bloody underwear with a sledgehammer covered in blood and brain matter dragging along the asphalt.

 

Negan had been beyond angry when the trucks left - he'd even smashed a mailbox just out of pure anger, just swinging Lucille in a manner that could only be described as foaming at the mouth anger, swearing, and saying _you'd better fucking hope you have a working long-range radio._ In that moment, you didn't care how he'd done it, how he'd managed to catch up to you, how he'd found you, how he'd managed to get all of these men and these weapons. In that moment, you just didnt care.

 

You remembered breaking down - saying things, babbling, your clammy hands pressing against his crisp, white shirt, putting your desperate bloody paws all over his body as he raised you off the ground. You pushed your face forehead first against his neck and chest, feeling him put the sweat-lined leather around your back and shoulders, before silently pushing you off of him to delicately put the arms through the sleeves. Negan was silent in zipping it up over your naked chest, before you jumped in place, latching yourself around his body. He put you in his jacket, taking in your nakedness first, before seeing all of the blood, and the look on your face.

 

The relief flowed through you so hard it was almost bone-rending and for a second you couldn't breathe. You spent the entire hour hating yourself, hating Shakil and thinking of Evelyn's smug face and Chuck back at the bayou. You spent all of it thinking about how you'd kill yourself before you'd ever feel Chuck's sweaty, disgusting hands all over you. It was too big for you, and uncomfortably warm, but you relished in the covering that it gave your exposed body. You felt your knees buckling against him, and quickly, with the last bit of strength you had, you jumped up against him, pushing your chest against him through the jacket and throwing your arms around his neck.

 

The tears were leaking out of the corners of your eyes, and you were thinking that he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen - like there may as well have been a halo behind his head, because every cell in your body had been resigned to your fate. You latched your naked legs around his side, hanging off of him unexpectedly. You were not a light girl with the muscle you carried, but you were a short girl. Negan could feel your heart pounding loudly through your chest, through his jacket, and feel your clammy hands leaving blood stains on his neck and the back of his shirt.

 

He heard your shuddering gasps against his ear, grabbing fistfuls of the back of his shirt, pulling it taut against his body.

 

" _Thank you."_

 

 

Your words had become disjointed and muddled, a mix of _'You came back,'_ and _'thank you'_ and a few other things he could barely make out, it devolved quickly into hiccups, and your entire body felt like it was vibrating with tremors. Negan's large hands came up under you, to go under your upper legs around your thighs, only to be in contact with a steady trickle of blood again, that made something inside him feel a little sick. There wouldn't be much of a chance of you walking, he mused.

 

Your chin was over Negan's shoulder, you could see the blurry figure of Carl from his telltale hat behind Negan, and then Rick - and some Alexandrians you recognised. The rest were people you didn't know very well but supposed were from Hilltop.

 

Negan turned to the truck, and easily walked with your weight hanging off of him, doing your best impression of a limpet.

 

"Shoot them or smash them in the legs and open the car doors. Let the dead fuckers at 'em. It's about the least they deserve. I'd say take 'em back, but I'd wager these are the last faces she wants to see. Leave 'em the road, where those backwater knuckle-dragging bayou sons of bitches can see 'em when they ride up the highway," Negan said.

 

He saw that Carl was carrying Lucille, and advancing on Raoul.

 

Negan smiled, and Rick didn't stop him. He'd have done a lot worse, _a lot worse -_ but as it stood - he had an armful of you to deal with, and he wasn't ready to put you on the floor yet. Not by a long shot.

 

* * *

 

 

You were thankful when you were put in a different vehicle this time, even though they reclaimed the truck that The Bayou had taken. The ride was frightfully quiet - some of them, clearly, reeling from what they'd seen. It was a strange scene too. Carl Grimes on your right, on the ground, with Lucille, covered in blood between his knees, and Rick beside him, staring out quietly at the wall. Negan next to Carl, on the floor of the truck, with your body still wrapped around him, refusing to move. You weren't even awake, at some point between getting you to the truck and sitting down you had managed to cry yourself into passing out against the man's body, covered in everything.

 

Dwight was quiet, driving and glancing at what was happening in the back from the overhead mirror.

 

Negan licked his dry lips and looked down at your form. He could only describe what he saw as a psychotic break - he didn't even know people had the living capacity to do what you did to Shakil. He remembered how the disbelieving silence had fallen over the truck encirclement when you'd staggered out of the back of their truck, dripping from thighs, to ankles, and from wrists to hands, dragging a sledgehammer across the asphalt with an expression like you'd clawed yourself out from the devil's backbone itself.

 

The way you'd stuck yourself into Shakil's eyes and just _dragged him_ through two sets of broken glass and left a long smear of blood all across the car and the bonnet while he struggled and screamed against your hand. You'd reached  _inside of his skull_ with your bare fingers and carried his gigantic body through your rage and smashed his skull until the fragments sprawled out across the road and left an indistinguishable pulp in a single deathblow.

 

Negan had stood there, and exclaimed _"Jesus H. Christ on a fuckin' kangaroo - are you pricks seein' this shit?!"_

 

He was still, if he had to admit it, in a little bit of shock. But God - he thought, that fucker deserved it. More than deserved it even. He broke Negan's cardinal rule - because he was trying to build a fucking society. Rape? That was a huge no-no, it always had been, and it always would be. He couldn't keep the visceral disgust off his face as he felt the blood running across his fingers from your thighs because no matter how fucking _quick_ he had been in assembling forces and catching up, it hadn't been quick enough.

 

Nobody in the truck said anything, until you let out a low groan against Negan's chest, slowly moving. Your head felt so heavy that you didn't know how your neck didn't snap under the weight of it, the whites of your eyes had gone completely red, like you'd burst a blood vessel almost, and it hurt to look at. But you were okay.

 

It was Rick's soothing drawl that spoke to you first.

 

"How're you doing?" his voice was impossibly gentle. It reminded you of a sleepy bear, slowly waking up, it was comforting, you thought - as was all of the warmth of Negan's jacket, and body.

 

 _'....his body?'_ your brows furrowed in confusion, and with all the strength you could muster, your hands pressed against the flat of his chest through the shirt, where you noticed there were already hand-shaped prints damaging the crisp white. You pushed against Negan weakly, trying to raise yourself off of him, looking at him with a light frown on your face, head pounding.

 

 _"Sorry,"_ you said hoarsely, realising that you'd covered him in literally everything, expecting him to let you slither off him, he just waved it off lazily, putting one hand on your left shoulder and gently encouraging you back into his body. _"I got blood on your....everything."_

 

"You're fine," said Negan, disbelief wheedling into his tone, the side of your head resting back into his chest. It was uncomfortably intimate for everyone in the room, but it wasn't exactly inappropriate, if anything, someone should have been doing it, it was just fucking unreal that the person doing it was Negan. Someone who, for all intents and purposes, was not the warmest, most cuddly sort of man. If anything, maybe Rick - or, preferably - Carl - who wished it was him, supporting you. But it was Negan who mobilised everyone - it was him who came out first.

 

Carl just watched through his hair at the pair of you.

 

You fell back into Negan, partially feeling like you were in a dream, if not for your profound headache from the crying, psychotic break you'd had. It was, pretty much, a long overdue mental breakdown. Simple as that.

 

You moved your head against his chest and glanced at Rick, who was staring at your eyes - your painful, bloodshot, agonised looking eyes. There was a pain shooting through your legs and your ass mostly, you could feel where you were still bleeding and there was a metal barb still stuck in your left ankle. The powerful, sexual ache shot through your form and you shuddered in pain from having to move against Negan to get yourself comfortable again, heart skipping a few beats.

 

 _"....Everything hurts...."_ you shuddered out in a hoarse, tired rasp - because holy fuck _it did -_ and that was without factoring in how shitty your head felt and your emotional turmoil subsequently. You could still feel bits of Shax in your fucking fingernails.

 

"Dwight, radio Carson and tell him to drop all his shit and get ready for when we get there," said Negan, his tone booming over you - his chin, nestled somewhere in your hair.

 

"Roger that," said Dwight, but his tone was quieter than usual, humbled, even - if you had to pick a word. He mumbled quietly into the radio - which, you vaguely remembered - fitting several radios that would get sent out to increase the range. That...must have been... how...? There was some relief in your gut - you'd done a good thing - it had been instrumental in saving your life, you realised. You forced yourself to look at Carl, who you found had been staring at you nonstop, for the entire truck ride.

 

Nobody called him out on it, the worry was almost palpable even if his face was mostly blank.

 

You caught each other's stare, and your mind reeled back to the incident in Alexandria, forcing your hoarse throat with a reply. You remember the absolutely devestated rage on his face - and how, even on his knees, he faced up to perhaps the only people in the world that you were absolutely terrified of.

 

" _Hey Big Blue,_ " you felt your lips trying to smile, they twitched, but they didn't quite manage. They trembled - it was an effort to smile, he could tell that much - so Carl returned it, even if there wasn't much in the way of feeling.

 

The truck kept quiet, because clearly, it was a massive strain on you to talk at the moment, and any noise would have drowned you out very easily.

 

_"....You were really brave...."_

 

Carl didn't say anything, but he did scooch closer so that he could hear you better, so you moved one of the hands which was around Negan's back and tiredly wormed it over to where the young boy was, the blood was still wet, a lot of it wiped on Negan, and you spread some on Carl, but he didn't seem to care, he was just concerned with how weak your hand felt as you squeezed his wrist and moved up to his fingers, trying to convey a silent thank you, because your throat really hurt.

 

You squeezed, before letting go weakly and letting your eyes fall shut, feeling like a heavy weight sat on your eyelashes and the darkness of your eyelids would sooth the light and air in the truck from making your bloodshot eyes strain anymore.

 

_"Thanks....you should be.... really proud of him Mr Grimes..."_

 

Rick's soothing drawl raised itself up again, telling you that he heard you.

 

"I am,"

 

For once, Negan kept his smarmy comments to himself.

 

 _"....Thank you for coming back for me..."_ you whispered into his chest.

 

That was enough for Negan - who was _never, ever, ever, EVER the good guy -_ feeling satisfaction bubbling up from the bottom of his stomach into the pit of his chest, his arms came around you lazily, a gentle methodicness to the sensation you felt around the back of your head, stroking your hair from scalp to end. It was soothing. It was gentle. You didn't even know Negan could be gentle, but he was.

 

Shit, Negan mused. This is what being the good guy was like.

 

_Weird._

 

But not necessarily bad-weird.

 

You passed out again, but not before hearing him talk to Rick. He spoke like nothing deeply emotional had transpired, because he was Negan, and he didn't really do touchy feely stuff, and his tone was even back on form, he spoke like he wasn't cradling you, but he was.

 

"Your people are going to get their guns back," Negan paused "-Under strict supervision, so when these people come back, and they just might, or if any other people do - you take care of it, and use the long-range radios to contact the compound. If these assholes ever turn up again, we wipe them off the face of the fucking planet."

 

It was one of those rare moments where Rick Grimes and Negan were on the same page, it was a feeling that ordinarily made his skin crawl, but there was a mutual understanding in the air, and the last thing you heard was a sweet, honey American drawl, that oozed in reassurance.

 

"Gladly."

 

 


	10. In Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is small, and not a lot happens, but I think you'll like it, it's rather sweet ;)

There was a devastating silence in Dr Carson’s office. He had been silent after getting you to unzip Negan’s jacket – and didn’t bristle when he found you naked beneath it. He had a fresh clothe, damped, and silently passed it to you. He wasn’t exactly a gynaecologist, or a doctor that necessarily specialised in the kind of injuries you had, but he placed a sheet over you nonetheless, and Rick merely turned his back, feeling a sickness in the base of his stomach. It seemed to be a silent agreement that you keep Rick in the room when you had doctor related things. It was like he was your guardian in that sense, though Negan was surprised that it wasn’t him, considering you’d spent the entire ride back in his arms.

 

The door was kept slightly ajar though, while Negan paced outside, before turning to Carl.

 

“Kid, she’s probably going to need some of your clothes. Make yourself useful and get her some,” he said.

 

Carl did not like being ordered around by Negan, not one bit, but conceded that he had a point, and after a glaring a hole into the man, simply left. He looked down at himself, and found some drops of blood over his jeans, and a heavy amount all over his crisp white shirt. Dr Carson eventually walked out in silence past Rick, who followed with his brows furrowed in confusion.

 

Dr Carson shut the door on you, giving you a moment to gather yourself, since he wagered the event was still incredibly fresh, and that you needed a moment.

 

“What’s the verdict Doc?” Negan lacked any of Rick’s soothing drawl, he was blunt and to the point, not one for flowering things up.

 

Dr Carson grimaced, straightening out his lab coat and sighing, cleaning blood off his hands with a clean rag and glancing between the pair. It was unlike Negan to give this much of a shit, usually he would dump whoever got injured on a run – if they were important to him in any way – and simply tell him to fix what he could fix. This kind of a situation was unprecedented.

 

“I’m going to prescribe her painkillers from the stockrooms for however much that’s worth. It’s more of a psychological pain relief than anything, but it should do some small physical good. Side effects include drowsiness, which she might just need. She’s experiencing discomfort just from laying on her back, so I would be doubtful she’s in for any easy rest,”

 

There was a palpable discomfort from the old man, who was clearly out of his comfort zone even as a medic, it was now that Rick realised the man had lost all of his colour, and looked a little bit sick.

 

“There’s been some… “he blanched a little bit, and seemed to be trying to hide it. “-Tearing, which is why there’s internal bleeding. I didn’t want to ask her too many questions, mostly for the sake of her dignity, and I wasn’t sure if she would want you to know the extent of what occurred. No offence,” he said, gesturing his head to Rick.

 

Rick just grimaced – he’d seen some shit as a cop in his time before the rising, but stuff like this was rare, stuff he heard about in other towns, and yeah, he knew how to deal with it. But when he dealt with it, it was college students who’d gotten into some horrible trouble, or a rare, violent act he heard about from Shane or other people on the force. He seemed to have a better stomach for it, and his heart went out to Carson, who clearly was still soft, and hadn’t been ready.

 

“Understood. How bad is it looking?” Rick found himself asking, because Negan was suspiciously quiet. For a man who always had something to say, this time, he had very little.

 

“Not as bad as it could be. Please...understand, in over forty years of being a doctor, before the collapse and after – never in my life have I even so much as gone through a rape kit, let alone administered one. I don’t even have these tools at my disposal, and it’s not my speciality. It’s my opinion, as a general doctor, that she’s going to be okay, but I’d need to check on her periodically to see how she heals in the coming days and weeks,” Harlan Carson rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve, it was now that Rick realised there was a strange glisten to the kindly old man’s eyes and he was wiping it before he showed too much weakness in front of Negan, no matter how acceptable it was.

 

“I would also advise that you look through the stock room to see if there’s any emergency day-after pills. I’m sure I saw some noted on the stock record, but I don’t have them in my pile. I think it’d give some peace of mind. I removed metal barbs and wiring embedded in her ankle and right wrist which gave the appearance of her bleeding more heavily than she was. When you brought her in, I was concerned she was haemorrhaging, thankfully, this isn’t the case. Similarly, her palms were cut open completely, I stitched those up,”

 

“Thank ya Doc,” said Negan with an inclination of his head. Carson swallowed some bile audibly, before shaking his head and putting the bloody rag he’d wiped his hands with to one side.

 

“I’d also prescribe bed rest, she’ll find walking uncomfortable for a while. I’d also recommend a hot bath but under the circumstances, a shower will suffice. I’ll check on her in a few days – “ he swallowed thickly, shaking his head.  “Who hurts a little girl?”

 

Of course, to Carson, who was an older man, even older than Negan, you were a little girl, and there was a mixture of mournful disgust in his tone.

 

Negan gave him a rather grim sort of smile, though there was satisfaction glinting in his hooded eyes.

 

“They’re dead. Deader than dead. Very, very dead, and if more of her people come, they’ll die too. Don’t you worry about that,”

 

“If it’s okay with you boss, I would like some air,” said Dr Carson – turning away from him – he didn’t even wait for an answer, which was more balls than Negan expected, but truly, he didn’t understand just how much this had shaken the good doctor’s constitution. "I'll be back in a few minutes,"

 

This left Negan, very awkwardly, standing beside Rick.

 

"Weelllllllllllll," he let out a long sigh "-the world's a bit fucked, ain't it?"

 

Rick didn't reply, he wasn't even sure if 'fucked' scraped the surface. Negan started to pace, enough that it actually gave Rick a bit of a headache to look at him - instead, he simply walked back inside your room, not wanting to keep leaving you alone. Negan, funnily enough, didn't stop him, or follow him. All he wanted to do was stand over the bed and make sure nobody ever hurted you again, like you'd woken up every instinct of his as a man, a protector and a police officer to want to keep you safe.

 

You lay uncomfortably on your back, a sheet over your legs and body and Negan's jacket left open and put on the side chair. There was a stabbing pain from your thighs up to your ass and it hurt so badly, you knew that Carson probably wanted to ask you things, but the more he looked, the more the damage appeared to make itself obvious. He noticed how you didn't clench or react to his rubber-gloved hands, you didn't flinch, but merely gave him a bottomless, empty stare that made something in his chest absolutely lurch.

 

You could see Harlan Carson's brown notebook, where he'd written in much cruder detail everything that had happened. You didn't want to look at it.

 

"When they took you," said Rick, breaking the silence with his sweet, relaxing voice. His hand very hesitantly crawling up the bed, he seemed almost frightened to touch you, like you'd violently slap his hand away, he settled it innocently on your shoulder, and was pleasantly surprised when you let out a deep, peaceful sigh from the base of your chest.

 

"You were the only thing everyone universally agreed on that they wanted to help, they wanted to help you more than they hate Negan. You brought Alexandria, Hilltop, the Compound, and the Kingdom together,"

 

You closed your eyes and listened, letting his sweet Southern drawl wash all over you. Carl had no idea how lucky he was to still have his father - a good one at that.

 

"I thought Negan was going to blow a gasket, and my boy, Carl? I've been with him every day of his life since he was in diapers and I ain't never seen him the kind of angry that he was when they took you," you felt him squeeze your shoulder.

 

 

"Ain't nobody going to take you ever again, I swear to you."

 

 

"People know what you do, they know that you're the only thing that stands between them, and Negan's temper since the day you arrived. You've done everything in your power to help us when we've asked you too and you ain't wanted nothin' back from us,"

 

You felt his face get nearer, his soothing words now in your ear, and you so desperately wanted to melt into them, and believe them with every bit of your heart.

 

"Now we're gonna pay you back. We're gonna look after you. Whatever happens from this day, with Hilltop, Alexandria, the Kingdom, the Compound - _Negan -_ whatever happens, I swear, we will come back for you,"

 

Squeeze.

 

"You're one of us now. From now, till forever - or till you don't want to be."

 

You opened your eyes, glancing at Rick in abject surprise - he might be one of the few good men left in the entire collapse, you mused. You gave him a lazy, weak effort at a smile, and it was slightly better than your previous attempt with Carl, at least.

 

"Thank you Mr Grimes. Carl is very lucky to have you,"

 

Rick gave you a small smile.

 

"You know, I'd say the same thing,"

 

You stared at him in confusion, before vaguely remembering how Carl now had a habit of walking around the Compound proudly, with a new doodle on his eyepatch each day - and whilst he was mostly made up of teenage brooding, he was a lot happier with a friend closer to his range even if you were older. You were also a hell of a lot warmer than the other option, which was Enid - and for that, Rick was eternally grateful.

 

"He's a good kid, under all the teenage angst," you managed out hoarsely, making Rick chuckle somewhat reluctantly. Laughing just didn't seem right in the situation you were in, but you were grateful to hear him laugh, and not treat you with kid gloves.

 

"I know,"

 

* * *

 

 You didn't want, or need the special treatment, but when Negan had a steaming, filled up bath tub for you, you were hardly going to turn it down. You saw empty buckets outside, meaning it had been manually poured and dragged from the communals, and someone had to clean a defunct bath tub and get it all functional in the span of an hour and a half. Rick had spent a surprising amount of time with you, mostly, he talked about Carl, because he didn't know what else to talk about.

 

You had a sheet around you from the doctor's office and little else. Negan was about to leave you to it, but you found yourself asking that he stay there. It was just weird, to actually have some kind of wash in the Compound and _not_ be holding some kind of a conversation with the man.

 

"Are you busy?" your voice small, and oddly nervous. This would be the first time you'd actually ask him to stay, and a weird time at that.

 

Negan looked at you in confusion, arms folded over his dirty shirt.

 

"I was going to get changed, clean Lucille, check munitions since you're laid up - put the fear of god into the Dipshit, so," he paused "-no."

 

You fiddled with the sheet in your fingers, feeling a strange, inexplicable curdle of shame inside of you.

 

"I was going to ask if you could stay and talk to me like you usually do but I get that it's weird and you're busy so forget I asked," you murmured, dropping the sheet - long past caring, even now, what Negan saw, because he'd seen everything. In a way, it was liberating. You walked over to the porcelain tub, and saw some small bubbles on the surface - not a gratuitous amount but it wasn't just a still bath - that was for sure.

 

Negan had, somehow, outdone himself.

 

"How...?" you whispered in confusion, fingers shyly hovering and touching the bubbles.

 

"I asked the brainbox to whip up a little bubbly for you, I thought, what do chicks like in their baths? Scented candles, oils, bubbles. Now, couldn't do much about the scented part, but we got candles, and Eugene made the bubbles happen - I'm reliably informed it wont do you any open cuts any harm, so help me God if he's wrong," said Negan with a grin.

 

You turned to him, eyes wide, feeling your heart start to pound. Your head already hurt, and now your chest was joining it.

 

"Why are you doing this?" your voice was quiet, confusion laced in your tone. There was no accusatory nature to it though, like there usually would be. You always questioned Negan's motives, and rightfully so. You were surprised when he actually gave you an honest answer, minus all the usual bullshit.

 

"I don't want you to be scared anymore," he walked over to the tub, arms folded over his chest and looking down at you. "I have come to realise, with the quick mobilisation of about several communities that hate my fuckin' guts, that you're fuckin' important. Really fuckin' important. Firstly, it would be a tremendous loss to me and my compound if those assholes took you, but secondly, it would raise holy fucking hell, because you - clever girl - have managed to make yourself important to a whole bunch of people,"

 

His lips twitched.

 

"By 'keeping me in line' - shit, I know you negotiate for them, but you always do it in a way that makes fuckin' _sense,_ because you're as smart as you are hot, and I respect your game. I don't always cave in, but I respect your fuckin' game. You've made a lot of people's lives better, and they'd be twice as pissed as me if you weren't there anymore. They know what you are, that you're valuable, even if they don't know you."

 

"And I want them to know that I know that, and that I'm takin' care of you, cos you're worth every inch of power that I've fuckin' given to you. I don't make mistakes, I make investments,"

 

You didnt say anything, before slowly climbing into the tub, he noticed how your form shuddered and you winced in the movement that it had taken, just as you'd gimped the whole way there. Negan had pretended not to notice, but of course he did. He was a painfully perceptive man, and he reached out his arms, helping to lower you in.

 

"Keeping you safe, happy, fed, protected. It's in so many people's best interests," Negan added, glancing around for a chair, before leaving the room and coming back with one, scraping it across the tile and sitting down by the tub.

 

You nodded and lowered yourself into the piping hot tub, at first you grimaced from the heat, but very quickly you felt all of your muscles unclench, and you groaned from the sensation of complete warmth all around you. Your heavy head now had the relief of the porcelain, and there was a beautiful sense of cleansing as the water reached around your neck. For a second, Negan was actually a little jealous. It did look _really_ good.

 

"Thank you Negan," you breathed out, God, for a second, the ache that coursed through your whole body disappeared, and was soothed by the water..

 

Yeah, you'd been saying that a lot the past few hours, you stared up at the ceiling. This was one of Negan's many homes on the Compound he'd led you too, he had the bath set up there, unsurprisingly, but the whole house had been hauntingly empty - he must have sent his wives elsewhere.

 

"I owe you the truth now, don't I?" you closed your eyes, and sunk your head down, feeling the ends of your dark hair start to spread out beautifully in the water. He'd triangulated between several camps and managed to save you - he stopped you from dying, and he didn't even know it - and most definitely from a fate worse than death.

 

"I suppose ya do," Negan still wasn't going to sugarcoat it. He was still greedy Negan. He still wanted to know everything about you. He leaned back in the chair, pushing his knees apart in a lazy, masculine slouch, putting his hands behind his head and looking at you wash yourself quietly. You drew up a sigh from the very core of your being, letting your shoulders slip in too - where the tension would build whenever you even thought about it all.

 

There was a long silence, and surprisingly, he didn't force you to break it - if you were going to tell him everything, you were going to say it how you wanted to say it. He wasn't going to take that bit of agency from you.

 

"In England, I was a public school kid in an area where everyone sold skunky quality weed, got into fights and thought they were the coolest thing since sliced bread if they came to school and broke the uniform dresscode, but most of them had more money than us," you grumbled.

 

"Four years ago, my mother and father pulled me out of school to take me on holiday. Usually, it would be after years of saving, and usually to my father's birth village in India, way out in the boonies," you explained, moving your hands into your hair and washing the blood out, which turned some of the water pink.

 

"This time, it was America, with a layover in Canada. When my father's family migrated to the West, most of us split off to England, some went to Italy, and some went to Canada. My cousins on his side ended up in Canada, and led the mass export of drugs from India and Cambodia across Canada and into America. They died in some stupid gang bullshit - we went to the will reading then carried out straight for Seattle. There was funnily enough, a wedding. A funeral-wedding extravaganza. I remember being so fucking stupid and angry at my parents for bringing me there, wishing they'd left me in Canada to mourn my cousins. Cos I actually liked them,"

 

You choked slightly on your own words, remembering how you were more absorbed in your PSP than your family.

 

"I spent so much time not actually talking to mum and wasting time on my PSP that there isn't a day I don't wake up and fucking kick myself,"

 

Negan wasn't much for comforting, so he surprised you when he butted in.

 

"You were fourteen," - though he did seem silently in awe of the sheer amount of fuckery your life was in before the collapse even happened.

 

You shrugged under the water, making it splash a little.

 

"I was a dumbshit fourteen year old," you reiterated harshly. "-But when we got to the Seattle airport - we were going to New York - we...got there and then... they did everything in their power to keep us there, like..." you rose up from the water, feeling your dark hair stick to your back, face turned away from Negan. "-like there was something wrong. Then the power went and the generators went on. Then we ran out of food. Then we secured the Duty Free section and my old man he..."

 

You furrowed your brow, it was surprisingly a long time since you thought about him.

 

"I found him one day with several empty bottles of booze around him, hanging from a ceiling fan,"

 

Momentary silence.

 

"He started moaning so we thought he was okay -we cut him down and... found he wasn't. That's how we... found out that it doesn't matter _how_ you die, it's just going to...happen _,"_ you sucked in a sharp breathe "-So I grabbed an empty bottle of Famous Grouse and smashed it over his skull and killed him a second time."

 

Negan was quiet. You had been fourteen when you'd - God. Good fucking God.

 

 _"Sorry?"_ his tone was truly confused, like he didn't know if he should be saying 'I'm sorry that happened' or what. He was surprised when he was met with a humourless laugh, had he been of a lesser constitution, he'd have flinched, in light of all that happened and the subject matter - it was wholly inappropriate and unexpected. _  
_

 

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? Some people would give their arm for that kinda closure," you snorted, turning to see Negan's expression. "-My daddy was a cunt who drank like a fish, gambled like a moron, and made me and mum's lives miserable and should have died of alcohol poisoning way before the fucking Rising," there was a vehemence to your tone that made him avoid questioning it. You seemed pretty sure on your answer.

 

"Fucking hell," Negan settled on, smiling uneasily - even he didn't feel completely right, smiling like that.

 

"We stayed at the airport until the last broadcast told all survivors to go to Atlanta. The last airport still working was in New Orleans, Lousiana, and it's as far as our jet fuel could take us after we siphoned from all the other planes. Everyone in the control tower turned by the time we got there and the airport was no longer online. We traveled as a group until we were picked up by the survivor outpost in the bayou that took us back to a military base,"

 

And then came the hard stuff, when your throat dried up and you didn't want to talk anymore, but it was what he wanted to know.

 

"Major Chuck and his wife Evelyn ran the place, more or less," you cleared your throat, feeling the build up try to stop you - and Negan could tell you were no longer at ease talking, but were forcing it just for him, because he'd rescued you. Now he needed to know what he had rescued you _from._

 

So you intended on telling him, fully.

 

"Evelyn and Chuck had an...open relationship, I guess. Chuck.... really liked me. He was....really happy with how good I was taking to all the military training - under Sarge and Professor Mattius. I thought... I thought he thought I was cool," your voice suddenly felt strained, and you felt your shoulders come up to your earlobes in tangible shame. "I felt really grown up."

 

Suddenly, Negan could feel a slightly stomach churning sensation that he didn't want to admit to having - rather wishing he was too tough for it.

 

"And then he said I had grown up, and told me what grownups do. He... it felt good," you admitted bitterly, ducking your head down and glaring at the water, the undercurrent of disgust was so thick that Negan was surprised you didn't hock a loogie as you spoke about it.

 

He was almost regretting his pushiness - but the greed was still there -

 

_'I NEED TO KNOW - I must know - I need to know how they hurt you - I need to know everything. You're ours now - I need -....'_

 

"It was magical, and awesome, and then Evelyn found out, and hung me by the wrists over the rotter pit that we test the 30mm autocanons on. We had an industrial crane on the base used to move the Extra Long-Range Bombardment Device. She hung me from it and told me I had to think about what I did, and it was only okay when I asked permisson, and shared, that going behind her back was evil. Like... like _I'd_ done something wrong when he'd climbed on top of me-- " there was a strange curdle of injustice oozing into your tone, and rightfully so. Negan only wished you were angrier, and screaming about it, because you should have been. " _WHEN HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER!"_

 

Negan didn't say anything, wisely, he saw this was one of those venting moments you do not interrupt. When you get the naked truth.

 

"And I was so embarrassed I couldn't tell my mum, Evelyn said it was dirty and what I do in their marital bed is just between those two. But that was a lie. They'd let their son have a go too. Or the kid they called a son. Or adopted. I don't fucking know. They probably fucked him too. That was Shax - Shakil - you saw ...him.. - but sometimes, their daughter - and I know she was their daughter cos she looked like Evie. Riley - she would wiggle into the bed after. She'd never touch me like that. But she'd hold me, before anyone spotted us, and tell me that she's sorry. Like that somehow made it fucking _better."_

 

You heard dripping - but realised it couldn't be a tap. It was, actually, despite everything, the first time you'd really cried about it. Actually cried, since the incident on Negan's couch - these were full on tears, and Negan could very suddenly feel himself in Carson's shoes earlier. Whatever answers he expected, he didn't expect this. He knew the world had truly gone to shit since the collapse and that humans were capable of horrible stuff - he managed people that did horrible things every day - but even he had his limits and the Louisiana Bayou pushed him way past his threshold.

 

But like a trainwreck, he couldn't stop you.

 

"Chuck said if I told anyone that he'd kill my mum in her sleep and then I'd have nobody left and he could keep me chained to the bed and nobody would stop him." You looked up at the ceiling again.

 

_'Waheguru, give me strength.'_

 

 

"The women were just power tools, we were used, the elderly were left abandoned in the Louisiana swamp because they were seen as a burden on resources. There were no children when we got to the camp, and when women got pregnant, they would take them to a room, and hurt them so bad that all they'd do is miscarry. No children allowed at the bayou. Ever."

 

Negan was starting to feel a bit sick now, and that took some work.

 

"But nobody was as bad as Chuck, there was a culture of fear, yeah, but if I put myself in front - it was okay. I mean, I could deal with it. Negan, I... I really like this. This bath, the um - the fact you came back for me even if it was out of pragmatism. I know you're taking care of it and you're not even charging me for it,"

 

Negan could not fucking believe you were thinking about the points.

 

"But Chuck, Evelyn and Shax raped me for four years and transgressions in the camp were met with humiliation - usually involving being naked in front of everyone and doing some demeaning task - and I was a rebellious son'bitch," you chuckled humourlessly. "I have practice with it - all the nasty shit they did, but I still laugh, and joke, and cry, and want to love and feel, and have sex - believe it or not - and dream about a time when in the middle of the end of the world I can find someone I can grow old with and watch the rotters die off one by one,"

 

You turned to Negan, a strange, kindly smile on your face, that made his insides feel like they were ripping into hundreds of tiny parts for indescribable reasons that the psychopath did not understand.

 

"And it happening one more time, isn't enough to put me down, take that away and make me half of a human. My humanity's all I have. I tried switching off before, and it didn't work, living like that isn't really living. That's why I left the bayou at all. Mum was getting sick too - they'd have killed her anyway, cos we didn't have a Dr Carson. So I took her and fled," you paused.

 

"She died in her sleep. She coughed a lot of blood on the road. I think her lung cancer came back, but I can't be sure. All I know is, she got to die in her sleep, and that's a kindness the world rarely affords us anymore."

 

You sucked in a final breathe, ready to end your tirade - this is the most you'd spoken in a very long time, it was emotional, and you felt you were draining yourself into the water.

 

"As nice as this all is, and yeah - I heard Carson say bed rest, and I guess I will - please don't....treat me too differently. Don't stop joking with me, hitting on me, coming with me when I wash and shooting the shit with me. Having dinner with me every night before bed - sharing reports with me. Scavenging with me - when I feel better anyway - don't... please don't take that from me Negan. I'm so sick of people taking things away from me,"

 

And then something in Negan shattered.

 

He didn't know what it was, and it didn't show on his face, but he got up with a force which made the chair slide with such abruptness that it nearly fell over. He walked over to the bath tub, and leaned so that he was pressing his chin to the side, glancing directly into your eyes.

 

"Nobody is going to take anything from you ever again," you couldn't recognise the tone he was using, but you felt vulnerable - exposed, but in a good way. The buffer between you felt like it had finally ruptured and was letting him in. You moved in the bath tub, water sloshing, your wet hands very hesitantly reaching out. You waited for him to move his head, but he didn't, showing you that he was ready to let you reach for him - so you did. Your nervous, trembling hands clasped his cheeks from both sides, holding his face, feeling his facial hair in your hands.

 

"Thank you Negan,"

 

You wished you still had something eloquent to say, but you didn't. Your heart pounded, and if Negan had raised his head you were certain you would have done something more foolish than you'd already done, your clumsy lips finding their way to the lines of his forehead. The instant you'd done it - you'd panicked - had you ruined everything? Did you take too many liberties again? Surely, you thought, it'd be okay, after everything that had just transpired between you two.

 

He'd closed his eyes, and did not fight it.

 

It was probably the most innocent, genuine, chaste kiss that he'd ever experienced, and he did not know how to feel.

 

He raised himself from the side of the bath, and picked up a pile of clothes he had prepared at the side of the tub, putting them on the chair he'd been sitting on. His head was just absolutely filled with shit, his stomach was churning, his heart hurt and he didn't know what he was feeling. Even with his late wife - even with forty years on this Earth, he had never experienced so many emotions in such extremity in such quick succession in his whole entire life.

 

"Let me take care of you. You're going to stay in this house tonight, where I can keep an eye on you. I'm not going to take anything away, but some things are going to change."

 

He felt like he was taking the entirely wrong tone, by going straight back to business - how to heal you fastest to make you useful - this required, charisma and _heart_ and things that Negan struggled deeply with, but now had to fight to show that he could do.  Negan did not "do" losing - so he was, in his own mind "going to care the fuck out of you."

 

Somehow. As soon as he figured it out.

 

 _"Did I ruin it?"_ he heard you ask in a quiet, oddly mousy voice, that did not suit you at all. It took him a moment to realise what you meant - until he realised you meant everything, but especially your interpersonal relationship with him.

 

"Listen to me, I'm only gonna say it once - I respect the _**fuck**_ outta you," said Negan bluntly. "You are a fucking ass-kickin' badass. You killed your dad when you were fourteen. You dealt with some real fucking sick shitbags and still came out on top. You wandered around a country you don't know the slightest fucking thing about while most of the assholes here fucking died with all the guns and artillery they could possibly fucking carry. You dealt with some _real s_ cumfucks, and I mean shit kid, scumfucks that I wouldn't even have step foot in my fucking compound. What you did to that Shax fuckhead? You rammed your fingers into his eyes and skull-dragged him across a fucking car and used his head against the glass like a goddamn eraser! Then fuckin' smashed his head in one blow like it was a fuckin' watermelon!"

 

"It was fucking the coolest most badass awesome shit I ever fucking saw with my own two eyes! I didn't even fuckin' know humans could do that! I'm not gonna fuckin' stop hitting on you, I'm like, _ninety percent more attracted to you_ and I really fuckin' shouldn't be, considerin' every asshole you knew raped the shit out of you or was just plain awful. You didn't ruin **shit** do you fucking hear me? You're an ass-kickin' British bombshell and all those grown-ass pussies out there in my compound? _**They ain't shit on you."**_

 

You found yourself gawking at him unattractively. Whatever Negan was supposed to say, you had no idea if that was supposed to be it, but it felt right. You felt a heat spreading through your chest, and you simply couldn't control it - and it felt good to feel.

 

"I should not be attracted to you, but you are so fuckin' crazy hot to me right now," Negan exhaled slowly, a strange glistening in his eyes "-and yeah, this is the worst fuckin' time for me to say that, but I thought that shit from day fucking one when I saw you take down one of my trucks all on your fucking own. I knew you were somethin' else, and you proved it. You're the best fuckin' decision I made in the whole goddamn apocalypse."

 

"And when I say you're hot, I don't just mean wanting to fuck you. I mean everything about you is hot. The way you look is hot - that fucking hair, those fucking eyes, that fucking honey skin, the way you talk, the way you walk. The way you kill shit is hot - method, practice, perfection - no wasted blows, the way you deal with shit is hot - zen as fuck - like you could take everything I could throw at you and spit it right back in my fucking eye, the way you talk down to me when nobody else will sets my fucking cock up like a compass and is _hot as fuck_ , say it with me - you didn't ruin shit,"

 

You stared blankly at him, until you saw his angry expectant look, and realised he was serious, your entire face feeling like the surface of the sun.

 

" _I...d-didn't..r-ruin...s-shit..._ " you gargled out, staring at him nervously.

 

"Again, with a bit more confidence."

 

"I didn't ruin shit," you muttered, sinking into the water, which was slowly cooling, feeling Negan's hand in your wet hair.

 

"Good girl," you felt his fingers going through your hair, stroking it out and putting it into partitions, almost playing with the smoothness, but it was comforting - methodical. If that was what he was aiming for, it was working. "Good girl," he said again, encouraging you to close your eyes and relax - it took you a moment to realise, but he was now using his _accepted_ over familiarity to wash your hair.

 

 _"There's my good girl,"_ he breathed _"My best girl."_

 

' _My best decision.'_

 

 


	11. Good Enough

Everything felt like it began and ended with you. There were rumours of course, now being spread by the wives that he’d simply lost interest in them, like they were yesterday’s news. The last interaction he’d even had with them was forcefully ushering them out of the house he wanted to stay in that night and bring you too. He spoke to Sherry like she was a gnat, because while you hadn’t said it, he knew clearly that it lowered your opinion of him. Negan couldn’t stomach the thought – he was a man who wanted to be thought highly of, at least, by you – as much as he thought it of himself. He didn’t want to be lumped in the same category as Chuck, or Shax – and so he’d have to address the matter of his harem. Sometime. Eventually. Right now, he was content to throw it into limbo and concentrate on his biggest pain in the neck. You.

 

Everything inside of him told him he didn’t want you to keep gimping around and wincing, so he didn’t let you. He carried you from bath to bed with no word of protest or making any kind of a fuss. God help anyone who mistook that for him going soft though – Negan would gladly put on a show for the sake of reasserting authority. The thing was, all you were doing was humanising the deity who for so long, dictated how the world should be. He was seeming less untouchable, and more real than he’d ever been. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

 

Negan had watched you on his bed, spreading a towel out over the pillow so it wouldn’t soak up all the wetness of your hair. He hated to admit it, but he would readily do so - you were his guiding force, a powerhouse of pragmatism mixed with kindness that overrode even your most human emotions. You’d even taken being pragmatic over being angry at being put in The Box.

 

You were in Carl’s clothes – a tight blue-white flannel that was taught around the muscles of your arms but was narrow around your stomach, however, the buttons didn’t go all the way up. You were wider than Carl, who was a narrow and gangly teen. The bottoms were looser fit dark jeans that ultimately, weren’t the cosiest bed wear. You kept them off and folded to one side while you lay in the bed, naked from the waist down apart from some small boxers that you’d flat out taken from Negan.

 

He wondered, briefly, if you understood how sexy you were to him, if the diatribe had possibly been enough. Looking upon you, there was a surge of anger – picturing someone else’s hands, their abusive hands, hurting you in anger, leaving the light bruising on your thighs. There were so many pieces to pick up. You were supposed to be handled delicately. Not like this.

 

“I am so fucking bad for you,” he mused, with a dry sort of smile on his face. Say what you will about Negan, but he was painfully self-aware. He couldn’t get what you said out of his mind, it stuck there and it haunted him since it left your lips. Three different people abusing you spanning four years.

 

Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

 

The ages they’d hurt you – if he did the math in his mind.

 

God, they really did hurt a little girl, and left a messed-up adult in their wake. Yet, to Negan, you were still a powerful force for good, your entire body brimmed with power and strength that matched a resolve that could survive for weeks upon weeks unbroken.

 

He watched as you turned your head on the towel tiredly.

 

“I’m reeaaally fuckin’ old too,” Negan added – and it wasn’t that he was necessarily insecure, but there was no way to ignore the twenty-year gap, and with all the older people who’d hurt you, he should be the last thing you wanted. He peeled off the bloodied shirt, exposing his naked torso to you again for a second time. If you had the energy to raise your head, you would have. “Carl’s a better fit for you, y’know.”

 

You let out a tired, confused noise – and Negan sighed irritably.

 

“I ain’t blind sweetheart. It’s all so sickeningly cute. He’d be good for you too – and if I was a better man – but I’m not, I’d put my crusty ass to one side and let it happen. But I can’t,” you felt the bed dip as Negan sat on it, idly moving strands of dark hair from your face. “You know you made me jealous of a fucking child, right?” He moved into your space, but hesitantly slow, as though giving you space to move in case you didn’t want him there. You realised that even now, all of his moves were slow and calculating, trying to accommodate you. Negan was jealous of Carl? Now you were sure you were in a dream.  He was leering over you, his face – close, but not too close, his body lazily leaning on one arm against the mattress.

 

“ ‘m not good for Carl,” you said after a moment, closing your eyes and sighing deeply. “-We have more in common than you think, but I bet I’ve done things that’d make your hair curl,”

 

“Oh I fucking doubt that,” Negan snorted.

 

You shook your head, turning to your side so your back faced in him in a tired ‘you’re wrong’ gesture.

 

“Bayou people aren’t nothin’ to fuck with. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. Things I know you’re above doing. Carl has his old man, who raised him right and I’m not about to ruin him. He’s a good kid under all the brooding badass. I’m nothin’ good for him. I’m...trouble,” your lips pinched into a reluctant smile.

 

“Who bites off more than they can chew,” you reluctantly rolled back over to Negan, mostly because you missed the feeling of his hands in your hair by your forehead. “-But yeah, you are kinda old. You’re like, what, fifty? That’s dinosaur compared to me,”

 

Negan swore loudly, and violently.

 

“Fuck off you little turd, I’m only forty!” he said, before he felt the mattress quivering, and saw that you were holding in throaty, exhausted chuckles – and it dawned on him that you were teasing him, and joking.

 

“You bitch,” Negan smirked.

 

He was in awe of how you slid into the role of making people laugh after having your bodily integrity compromised so much. He stared and felt something settle uncomfortably in his chest. You really were something not to be trifled with – with all the things you just kept on coming back from. When you stopped laughing, you felt him reaching down and outright brushing the left of your face with the back of his knuckles delicately. He kept doing this for a few moments of blissful silence, and you didn't question it for a while. Instead, you wondered how often he allowed himself to be delicate with anyone at all.

 

"For the record," you managed through hoarse tones, trying to keep the tone light "You're like, a sexy, Madonna-forty," you heard him snort with laughter as you closed your eyes, a tiny smile breaking on your face. It was a nice noise, you thought.  "-Before she got the weird skeleton hands, anyway,"

 

"Thank you, I think," said Negan dryly, humour glinting in his hooded stare - at least, till he remembered that this was just you grasping at things to try to stay the same, because fact was - however used to it you were - your body had been traumatised. It was no stranger to it, but still. When you felt the mattress move, you realised he was ready to go back and squeeze in some Eugene-terrorising and do God knows what then go to one of his other houses, and something in you jolted your eyes open.

 

"Wait," you said, making him freeze in place. "I know you'd probably rather be with one of your wives to sleep,"

 

"But I really do not want to be alone right now," you admitted.

 

He was surprisingly obliging, he kicked off his shoes before sending out a radio message to Simon to check in on munitions on his behalf. Now, ordinarily he'd go to his evening wrap-up, and neither of you had dinner like usual, but the events of today were decidedly off-putting. Though, if he had so much as heard your stomach rumbling, he'd have picked up his radio and gotten room service from a member of the compound in half a second.

 

"Pretty girl asks me to lay in bed with her, I'm hardly sayin' no," he grinned - remembering what you'd said earlier. That you didn't want his wisecracks to stop. They wouldn't. No matter how tense the atmosphere was.

 

"I'd have thought that wouldn't really be your bag," he added casually, swinging both legs onto the bed and moving his hands down his front. He paused, his fingers frozen around the buttons of his jeans, he too was under the logic that they were not comfortable to sleep in, and more often than not, you didn't have a choice. So, with the opportunity of actually having a bed, it should be enjoyed properly. "I'd have just thought laying next to a man would be the last thing you'd want,"

 

He was blunt, and didn't sugarcoat it. He didn't understand how you could be so infuriatingly normal about it, you had said you were used to it in the bath - but fucking dammit, that's not what he wanted society to be like now, that's not what he wanted HIS society to look like.

 

You just shrugged in the bed, strangely at ease with his presence there.

 

"I've come to trust you and your word, how fucking barmy is that?" you sighed, wincing noticably as you tried to find a comfortable position on the bed, slowly turning on your side and tucking your knees up slowly so you were half curled up on yourself. You felt the ache shooting through your backside down your thighs and found it much easier to sleep on your side than on your back, and Negan noticed your palpable discomfort, but refrained from comment.

 

"I can keep them on if you want," he said, glancing down and gesturing to his crotch, where his hands were - currently about to unzip his jeans. "-I am, after all, a gentleman,"

 

You snorted loudly.

 

"You're Negan," you said, as though that refuted it and patently explained everything. He grinned again, and you just shook your head, gesturing that he could take them off, there was no reason for only one of you to be comfortable, after all.

 

"You can stay until I've fallen asleep if you want to get up and leave after, I won't mind if you do," you hinted again that you were keenly aware of him ignoring his _hubby_ duties, but it didn't seem to phase him one bit. Instead, he just shimmied his hips a little bit, dragging the jean material down until he was bending his knees up so he could pull them from his ankles, throwing the material into one corner of the room and then promptly sliding under the sheets after flashing you the sight of his green boxers.

 

You realised that this was probably the most of Negan's body you'd ever seen, and it was exactly what you'd expected. Strong and taut in a lot of places, a little softer in others - where he'd gotten a little lazier. With some envy, you noticed he didn't have any scars like you did, or any outward imperfections that you noticed. He just exuded a manliness about him, with his mostly dark chest hair that had some faded bits of grey weaving in further down his happy trail. He wasn't exactly a smooth sort of guy, but it'd be strange if he was, and while he was everything you expected, it wasn't necessarily underwhelming. It just suited him. He wasn't a Greek God by any means, but he was fit, and strong - and it definitely matched his face. All of his strength was in his arms - you could tell. Like you, he had strong arms, but your muscles were more pronounced in your torso and back. Where he was soft.

 

You made a point not to try to linger your eyes too long, and he maintained a respectful distance from you on the bed. You wondered for a second, if it was awkward, but if it was, Negan wasn't saying or suggesting it was.

 

"Nah, I'm staying put, I'm exactly where I need to be," he said simply, like he was stating a fact. There was no warmness to his words, but you couldn't help but feel slightly more at ease knowing you weren't keeping him there like a needy child. Though he had an unreadable sort of face, there was definitely no danger from being next to him, with him in just his boxers, because never once had he harmed you in the way that other people had done in the past. When the world ended, it was like everything had returned to primal, animal rules, and rape had become a weapon as much as it was an act of pleasure and power, it was a tool of bartering and horrendously common place in the groups you'd washed up in.

 

You were frankly surprised it wasn't a common feature in Alexandria, The Kingdom, Hilltop or the Compound.

 

You wanted to thank him for staying, but realised you had been doing nothing but saying "thank you Negan," since the moment he'd saved you, and you'd jumped and hung off him like a limpet, thinking he was the most beautiful thing in the world in that moment, with a halo behind his head. It was the first time that the namesake of his group actually matched and the Saviors actually were saviors.

 

"A lot of people who hate each other's fuckin' guts or have fuck all in common worked together today, I'm gonna let the dust settle," he said.

 

It was probably the smart thing to do, he was laying low with you, really.

 

"You're the safest you've ever been here, there's more people at the Compound tonight than most days, nobody's on patrol either, for whatever that's worth," God - you made Negan feel a nauseating amount of emotions and the sociopath wasn't quite sure how to order them all. You were tired, confused and shattered feeling, not knowing at all how to handle being Negan's "Best Girl" or even ask what the fuck that was supposed to mean. You couldn't even feel comforted by it at all because you didn't know if that was just part of Negan's need to own and control everything or if there was any warm sentiment behind it at all, and you didn't dare ask and confirm the answer lest it be one you didn't really want to hear.

 

You weren't even sure how _you_ felt about Negan.

 

"I know," you said softly, closing your eyes as you faced him, letting your breathing even out. Negan fell asleep quickly enough too - surprisingly, he wasn't a snorer, which, you kind of just assumed he'd be the type. Unlike you, he also seemed to lack that sleeping hair trigger where anything could wake him up - the way he slept was slack-jawed and lazy, like he hadn't a care in the fucking world, like he was utterly safe, and like people didn't want him dead. You on the other hand, were in too much pain to sleep, the bath helped tremendously, as did the tablets, but the ache was present whenever you so much as twitched, and there was no soft way of admitting "My ass hurts" without embarrassing yourself. You were sure he probably read Carson's brown book and known the excruciating detail of _where_ the tear had formed and why it hurt to even sit down.

 

You looked at him and envied how comfortable he was with everything, right from the oddness of the situation to the changing dynamic. He just took everything into stride and you hated how it was so obvious that you were in damn near a constant state of confusion and just played everything off because that's all you knew how to do.

 

Cracking open an eye, you observed him a little in his deep sleep. His hair was pushed back, a little thin in the front, but not greying like his beard, and thickened much more at the back, showing his true age.

 

Against your better judgement, you started speaking. Or rather, whispering.

 

It's what you did with your mother's walker body when she turned, you spoke to her despite knowing you'd get no reply, it was theraputic, cathartic even - like a Catholic confessional. Able to tell her all the things you couldn't in life.

 

Maybe you could tell Negan all the things you couldn't when he was awake. Pulling the covers up over yourself a  little more, you balled some of them in your stitched up hands, glancing at the state of your palms where they had been severed open by barbed wire, and sighed, looking at the fact it made your palms into a fucking roadmap. Your entire body may as well have been a roadmap of trauma, even if much of the scars were small and lightening over time, they were still there, and they were brought out against your honey skin and could easily be seen under the light of day.

 

 _"I don't think you'd have rescued me if you knew everything I've done and had done to me,"_ you whispered quietly, your eyes peeking to look at him through your eyelashes. If anyone had come in, it might have looked like you were sleep talking, but you were very much awake.

 

 _"-and while I don't think you would ever throw me from your compound, I think your opinion of me would lower drastically,"_ you licked your dry lips, sighing softly into the dark, listening to his rhythmic breathing.  _"-and for some reason, I'm not sure I could stomach the thought,"_

 

Breath In. Out. In. Out.

 

Still asleep.

 

 _"We are, our actions - to a big extent. And if that's the case, I'm a monster, and I deserved everything that came to me,"_ bitterness oozing into your tone. You heard Negan's breathing still, and in the pitch black darkness save for the moonlight streaming in, you saw the glint of his hooded eyes, very drowsily looking at you - as though he hadn't been asleep, or that he might have been listening the whole time.

 

_"I've even prayed over it, and I don't pray much anymore. The line's always silent, y'know?"_

 

Negan was blinking slowly, but not opening his eyes very widely, very much appearing to be in a half-asleep daze, he had slept on his side, facing you, staring at you on your pillow across from his own, watching you talk to him softly in the dark, not daring to pierce it all with a reply and ruin the fact that you felt the atmosphere safe enough to just start _talking._

 

 _"But I don't think there's any God where I'm goin',"_ you closed your eyes. _"Ritual. And sacrifice. That's a lot of what the Bayou was about - ritualistic order, sacrificing for the greater good of the group. And there was a saying - at least, from my religious leaders back home. That if you suffer, and I mean **really suffer** \- and show a willingness to sacrifice. The God....He pays attention,"_

 

You felt yourself stumbling over your murmurs, like you had a gallstone ready to come up from your gut and lodge itself in your fucking throat, telling you not to confess. You just couldn't get the bayou out of your head, you were thinking about it more than you were even thinking about what Shax had done to you, which had been relegated to the section of "not important" - you were seriously stuck on the thought of how you were very seriously weighing up the options to kill yourself before you hit the state line, and how purely horrific the shitshow you'd left had been.

 

 _"I feel like an imposter here, trying to do good things,"_ you opened your eyes to see Negan staring at you, more alert than ever.

 

Oh yes, definitely awake.

 

 _"You are your actions,"_ he reminded in equally soft tones, hoarse from sleepiness and finally saying something, before letting out a deep yawn. If he was annoyed at you waking him up, he didn't show it. _"That counts for the good shit too, not just the bad shit,"_

 

You didn't know what to say to that, so you fell quiet again.

 

"I like what you are, I like what you came in as when you killed Danny, and I even like what I saw when you smashed Shax's skull in," his tone a little louder now, but still hoarse from sleeping, it was a shade deeper, and, if you had to admit it - was a little bit sexy. "I thought it was hot," he reiterated with a smirk that you could practically feel.

 

"I'll tell you what though, I didn't expect you to jump on me like that," he said, turning his head to look at you again, his eyes glittering in the darkness. "I was absolutely gonna smash the shit out of the dickhead with the machine gun and let Rick load you into the truck but then you hung off me like a goddamn limpet and the next thing I knew I didnt  want to put your ass down,"

 

You felt your face heating up rapidly, and found yourself tempted to hide it under the sheet as Negan spoke to you in that weirdly confusing "I might be attracted to you or maybe it's just a Negan-ownership" thing that you were too scared to ask him about to decipher it. You did, however, feel your heart jumping in your chest slightly, reminding you of the days you'd wake up and steal some of your mother's coffee before school and feel it ready to jump out of your throat. You remembered how you wanted to ask him if he could hold you like how he had in the truck but mentally drew a line because there was no way it wouldn't sound weird now that you were in bed and he didn't need to carry you anyfuckingwhere. With him saying he didn't actually want to put you down, the temptation to ask flared up again, but you squashed it down as much as you could.

 

Your breathing went deeper though, like you were a little winded from the revelations occurring and the uncomfortable rise of emotions that was just a fucking maelstrom.

 

"Shit, that fucking look you gave me - the look you had when you killed that guy, just melted right the fuck off. I've never seen someone so..." he fumbled for the words, which was strange, as Negan was not a fumbler, but it went to show how much you were just fucking up everything. "-Glad to see me,"

 

You almost chuckled. Glad didn't even cover it. Glad was an understatement.

 

"When I saw it was you I instantly knew I wasn't going back and I swear I saw a halo behind your head, I had to jump onto you so I knew you were real and I wasn't going to wake up with Shax's balls deep inside my ass and my head banging against the fucking wall,"

 

You were so cruel and blunt with yourself and your experience that Negan actually grimaced at your words.

 

You choked out a small, somewhat forced laugh - but there was something earnest about it, because your words came from your heart.

 

"When I saw you I forgot every horrible thing you'd ever fucking done and I remember thinkin' - _oh my God, that there is the most beautiful thing I've ever fucking seen. I'm not going to die_ ,"

 

Negan was silent. He'd been called a lot of things, he was pretty sure 'beautiful' wasn't one of them, but with the context, it made sense, but the way you'd said it  - it was almost fucking poetic in a strange and tragic sort of way. That this level of horror happening to you was the only way that he could be a fucking hero to absolutely anyone - but the way you were looking at him, God... he wasn't sure if anyone had ever looked at him like that. At least, if they ever had, it hadn't been for a long, long fucking time.

 

"You think they'd have killed you?" he asked curiously, knowing just how far they'd gone to get you, he doubted it very much so. It didn't make sense, unless the grudge held against you was that tremendous.

 

"No," you snorted. "-I spent the entire time I was getting fucked trying to figure out how I kill myself before we hit the Louisiana state line. I'd rather die than be someone's bitch again, you have no idea," you shook your head.

 

There was no exaggeration there, and Negan felt the sheets shift before he fully realised you were forcing yourself to sit up and move closer to him, even though you were wincing the whole time. His face, which was fixed on you, was now feeling strands of your dark hair brushing his cheeks on both sides from you looking down on him. That sensation of Negan and his gigantic personality devouring everything in the atmosphere as he aired out dominance was now reversed, unknown to you, you were now doing it to him. He felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest, like when he was training with you and he had let the bar of a weight rest on his chest for a half-second before he pushed it off of himself so he didn't damage his ribs in an effort to feel like he was keeping up with you.

 

Oh yes, very suddenly, Negan couldn't breathe, and that nauseating feeling was in full force. Everything else might as well have been in a kaleidescope because you were the only clear thing he could see, leering entirely over his body by leaning yourself to the right and pressing your scarred palm against part of the pillow that he was sleeping on, near one of his ears. This was alien, and new and Negan didn't know what to do with it, he was just frozen in place, staring at you the way an animal waits for the hunter to start moving before it bucks its legs and runs.

 

 _"You have no idea. You think you do but you don't. You got a taste for what lies beyond your compound and your empire when you ran into Shakil and Raoul's group - but what you saw? That was just the tip of the iceberg. If you knew what I was going to be returned to, I swear, you wouldn't be looking at me like that. I was holding you because you didn't just save me from going back, you saved me from a decision I was clean and ready to go through with. I swear,_ " you breathed insistently, leaning down a little more, so your words carried to his ears without you having to raise your voice and talk properly and break the sleepy atmosphere any more than it already had been. " _You have no idea and I didn't know if I ever wanted you to fully understand that shit because I think there's a bounds of fucking reason for how much a human should be exposed to and I think they fucking cross that boundary. But I know you could handle it. You can handle fucking everything. But I thought the less I had to tell you, the more I could protect people from knowing the kind of shit that's out there. That's fucking stupid. I know that now."_

 

 _"I was never trying to be awkward on purpose,"_ you whispered, feeling that warm feeling boiling over in your chest again. _"And I've been awake trying to think about how I say thank you for this because all I've been doing is saying it for hours but I don't think you fully understand the gravity of what you did,"_

 

It was why you had surrendered to urge, and kissed his forehead when you were in the bath tub. It was ultimately a very weak way of expressing your gratitude, but it felt like it packed a bit more punch than you simply repeating yourself. So Negan remained frozen, but felt that warm sensation against his forehead again, and the same feeling he'd felt in the bathroom rise up.

 

"So I'm going to do my best to make sure you understand," you said quietly, tone now slightly above a whisper, conveying a firmness to it and suddenly Negan found himself awash in a multitude of warm sensations over his face. He didn't know what to do, he certainly wasn't going to _stop it,_ but this was definitely perhaps the most pure thing that had ever happened to him. He didn't even know that he could think of another word for it. There were shy, quick and chaste movements all over his face, he felt three across his forehead, then four on his left cheek, straying into his beard, then five on his right - one on his nose! -, your clammy little hands on his naked shoulders, having shifted yourself above him fully in a way that, had the situation been much different, would have definitely been sexual. As it stood, this was the only situation with you sitting on his stomach, buttoned down chest pressed up against his bare-naked one would be non-sexual with everything that happened. There was definitely something charged in the air though. It wasn't necessarily sex-based, so it threw Negan for a loop. If he had to define it - he'd call it _clumsy, chaste passion._ The kind of bullshit you'd get from the young adult section of the library, basically.

 

"So you understand exactly just how much I owe you for coming back for me,"

 

Negan felt your lips to the left of his own, painfully, teasingly close, his whole face being littered by what he could only define as butterfly kisses. That had to be what they were. And dammit, he was a highly sexual forty year old man with that many years of experience on this Earth but it had been an awful long fucking time since he felt this many slew of emotions screwing each other internally over what was a sickeningly innocent act.

 

He was staring up at you in disbelief, before letting out a long exhale, releasing the breathe he didn't even know he'd been holding.

 

"Well shit, if being the good guy means beautiful women want to kiss me all over I should do it the fuck more often," he said, his tone lacking his usual confidence and instead wobbling slightly, some of the confusion mixing in with what was easily confirmed to be utter delight.

 

You managed a humourless laugh, and he could feel the heat radiating off of your face like it was the surface of the sun. He felt himself returning to normal when you rolled off of him, going back on your side and burrowing deeply into the sheets. Negan hadn't exactly opposed what you'd done, but God - you weren't sure if you could even handle it.

 

 _"I can't believe I just did that,"_ you said suddenly, in a heated, embarrassed whisper. He watched with thinly veiled amusement as you proceeded to freak out over what was easily the most innocent thing to transpire between two adults in bed. _**"Oh - my - God!**_ " you groaned. This was a real mess right now, but you couldn't contain the emotional build up and when you'd told him he'd basically reversed the decision to end your own damn life, it had just boiled over, and now the immediate hit of your actions had washed over you. It was perhaps, the worst thing to do while you were emotionally unsure about the man.

 

_"Please forget I did that. A lot happened today. I'm all messed up still."_

 

The embarrassment was damn near tangible - and you could hear Negan chuckling from above the bedsheets, his voice reassuming that confident, cocky lilt of his that you used to hate so fucking much. Fuck him. Seriously. Why did he have to be like that? You could almost feel the smirk even though you were now hiding yourself under the covers.

 

"Nah, I don't think I will," he teased. "That shit was fuckin' cute as hell. I'd even say it was worth wakin' me up for,"

 

 _"I changed my mind about wanting to die,_ " you mumbled sarcastically in a tiny tone, but he'd heard you, and made you squeak as he very suddenly dived under the sheets too - now painfully close, like you two were a pair of young kids messing around in someone else's bed. It was so childish but intimate, you didn't know that there was even a word for the tight, warm atmosphere of the covers and the frightening closeness with Negan.

 

"Hi again," Negan grinned under the covers, reverting to the very occasional silly attitude - which you'd known him to slide into when he was bantering with you.

 

You felt your throat dry up, suddenly unable to speak now Negan had regained control over the atmosphere and intimacy.

 

"Don't think you're getting away from me that easy,"

 

You just let out something close to a whimper - all of your bravery steadily draining out of your aching body.

 

"Just so we're clear about what just happened, I liked it," he said bluntly - and fucking hell. He expected it to be sexier than this, and that it wouldn't in the wake of a traumatising fucking assault, and that you wouldn't be so infuriatingly cute. Instead, it was supposed to be adult and lustful, sexually charged and everything Negan was familiar with. Still - he mused - you had to work with what you were given. And you had given him a chaste kind of passion.

 

He decided he could work with that.

 

"I wouldn't mind if it happened again," he paused, and groaned internally. He had a few thoughts in the past about tugging you away, and seducing you - after of course, mulling over if he even had that ability, but then his mind would make up scenarios anyway, and let him relish in his imagination. It was, in an ideal world - supposed to be sexier than this, but his tone was deep and rumbling, more honest than he'd ever heard it - and spoken bluntly. He was supposed to make your knees tremble and make you moan into his mouth - shoving you into the back of the shower stall and kissing you until you were lightheaded. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this, God fucking Dammit. He could feel the control just slipping away, bit by bit.

 

He was supposed to push his lips on you needily, but his own words held him to a promise. Nobody would ever take anything from you ever again.

 

"And I really think that, if you want to - you should kiss the hell outta me," his eyes didn't blink, his tone, still deep and almost heady. His words made your ability to speak die on your tongue. You couldn't believe it was going to happen - and this is how it was going to fucking happen. You almost contemplated not doing it - but it was damn near unfathomable, and you didn't want to think about how horrible whatever it was you two had would go, if you didn't take the option that was just making your heart want to tear itself out of your ribcage in excitement. "Kiss the hell outta me until you forget all about those assholes,"

 

And now his tone shifted, it was almost needy - you found yourself inching forward under the sheets, ignoring the ache in your body easily.

 

Then, right out of left field - the thing that would have made you buckle if you had stood.

 

" _Please_ kiss the hell outta me darlin'," he breathed out, giving you an unblinking stare, watching as you crept through the sheets and shyly closed the distance.

 

Please.

 

The word he almost never says.

 

And then it happened. You hoped at first that it wasn't disappointing, because there was a distinct lack of sexuality to what was happening, and you could not help but think it perhaps should have been there, but you crashed your lips against his with a fumbling innocence. You were experienced in more intimate things, but only Evelyn and Riley kissed you - rarely had anyone been kissed _by you._ It was cute, clumsy, passionate yet wholly humble and innocent, keening but none too lustful. You were kissing him and your noses had brushed before you moved your head just so you could get to his mouth, feeling his facial hair nuzzlig you - it only seemed to make you smile against him - feeling the unsuspecting sensation of tickling. You were sure you probably weren't supposed to smile against someone's mouth after kissing them, or giggle, but you had.

 

Then you'd done it again, wondering if his lips really were that soft, and he just laid there, letting you do it, but he'd push back slightly, meeting you with the need to keep on closing the distance between your mouths, just so you wouldn't be discouraged and suddenly stop.

 

"You're makin' - "  he spoke, but you kept cutting him off, feeling yourself getting strangely charged up from each positively received kiss - like you finally had control over your body and your needs and you were the one exerting your will - you weren't simply being _acted upon._ This would have been the last thing anyone would have thought you needed but, everyone handled things differently, and in truth, you'd already cycled through the periods of never wanting to be touched again, and then breaking the pattern, then feeling guilty, then alienating yourself again from feeling until it was a tiresome loop and you'd had enough. You were done with that. You wanted your body back.

 

Kiss.

 

"- me feel - "

 

You licked your lips and went back down for his again, hearing the soft noise of your soft mouths meeting each other under the darkness of the sheets, it was enough to make your toes curl.

 

" - like a - "

 

Kiss.

 

" Dirty old - "

 

Kiss.

 

" - Man,"

 

This made you take pause, and you were breathless, though no tongues had been involved, and if anything it had all been painfully innocent, you could see his chest rising and falling steadily, him too, feeling inexplicably winded.

 

"I can't help but feel like 'm slightly takin' advantage of you," he chuckled humourlessly.

 

Like you were a rape rebound or something - it turned the shy, innocent, puddle mess you were into something firm and sharp, making him appear startled for a second as you answered him almost angrily in your breathlessness.

 

 **"Fuck. That!"** you snarled."This is the **first** time anyone's **ever** let **me** do the touching," you hissed, before leaning down, and placing your lips down with the barest hint of aggression - and when you pulled back, you gently took his lower lip, nipping at it slightly, making him gasp deeply in surprise. "I can make my own fucking choices, and if I want to take up your offer to kiss the hell out of you, I bloody well will. You don't _get_ to take advantage of me, or think I'm a fucking rape rebound. If I didn't want to do it I could have just turned around and not done it. Since when have I ever been scared to refuse you? I'm pretty much the only person who fucking does!"

 

Negan blinked owlishly, he honestly didn't expect a response to something he'd said in passing, and held his hands up in surrender under the sheets, his lips twitching into a slow smile.

 

"Then please, touch me however the hell you want," he said earnestly "-and tell me what you want. I told you, I'm never gonna be the one to just take shit from you."

 

You flushed darkly but he couldn't quite see how hard your skin was blushing, you slowly settled back down beside him, feeling your heart try to put itself back on track.

 

"Well," you cleared your throat. "W-what I want, Negan, is for you to um," you felt yourself stumbling, yeah, you had the wind taken out of your sails when he laid out his offer point blank like that, essentially neutralising your righteous response.  "I would like for you to hold me like you did in the truck, kind of. I mean, I think I'd sleep better that way." You tried to justify it, but it sounded stupid even to your own ears.

 

"Yes Ma'am!" he teased, saluting under the sheets.

 

He flashed you what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, before opening his arms up under the covers, and ushering you nearer, pulling a leg over himself after getting your permission to do so, and pulling you into himself so that your face was tucked directly into his naked chest, feeling his hair brushing your cheek - it was strangely not uncomfortable, and you could hear the soothing sound of his heartbeat against your ear. His large arm had come over you, the back of his hand brushing your damp hair - he could feel how warm your skin had become - it was like your entire body, despite being muscled in places, was definitely soft in others, and you radiated a warmth that was pleasurable to put against Negan's definitely lesser clothed body.

 

"We good?" he asked, his chest rumbling against you.

 

All you could do was nod against him - sure that he could feel your cheeks burning.

 

"Alright, now _go the fuck to sleep this time,"_

 

* * *

 

 

 _Somehow,_ you had managed to untangle yourself from Negan and managed to leave at the crack of dawn, despite how much the events of yesterday had taken out of you. Firstly, you needed to organise in your head what in the Hell just happened. Maybe you'd go talk to Aaron, that usually helped - oh! But shit. Dust settling. It'd probably be really weird - walking through the compound like nothing happened. Everyone had known something had happened. A bunch of people saw you stumble out naked and covered and blood before beating the holy hell out of a gigantic man with two fingers jabbed into his eye sockets and using his head like an eraser. That shit was going to travel through camp.

 

And so, you thought grimly, was the fairly obvious fact you'd been assaulted to hell and back - though at least Negan's camp wasn't exactly the most touchy feely sorts, so you would at least be spared all of the sad puppy looks. At least, you hoped.

 

You glanced up and saw Dwight headed for the guard post, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He stopped point blank when he saw you walking oddly through the camp, and slid his hands into his pockets. When you two made eye contact, he seriously considered just walking to his post and ignoring you - but then - you smiled. And he just....couldn't.

 

"Good to see you up," said Dwight.

 

That was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to you.

 

"Hey Dwight," you said.

 

Now, this was awkward.

 

"Watchtower?"

 

"Yeah," he grunted, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.  "You uh... you feel...okay? I don't... I don't know that the boss would just want you up and walking around places," You put your arms on your hips, giving the man an incredibly put out look, complete with a pout as well.

 

"Oh yeah, it hurts to walk," you said bluntly, waving it off. "-Needed to clear my head, get my usual morning air. Get back to feeling normal, y'know?"

 

"Yeah," said Dwight, glancing away from you awkwardly, before clearing his throat.

 

"Look, if you stay out today, you'll probably get some weird looks - some people might even come to you. I don't know. The people who weren't with the truck roll out heard about what you did and the Chinese Whispers thing is going on. I mean, what you did was brutal as fuck, and a bunch of people will probably want to hear it straight from you or Negan,"

 

You rolled your eyes - but appreciated Dwight's blunt candor, and the fact that he was trying.

 

"Thank you Dwighty, I appreciate the heads up," - he did his best not to scowl at being called Dwighty - but did so anyway. He felt his true irritation at you slowly ebb - and you took the opportunity to stick your hand out.

 

You decided that in the wake of everything, today would be the day of changes.

 

"Listen. You don't like me and I don't feel much towards you. Can we just start over?" you said in exasperation. "I already know Simon's pretty much never going to be my best fucking friend but it'd be nice if some of Negan's besties didn't hate my fucking guts,"

 

Dwight wasn't sure how he felt about being called a bestie.

 

"I don't hate your fuckin' guts," he said testily, before sighing and rolling his eyes, rocking backwards on his feet and giving you a slightly sad sort of look that you couldn't place. Dwight was a lot of things, but he wasn't totally irredeemable, and if you wanted to make a go of things, he wouldn't actively be an asshole to you anymore.

 

"I was just pissed off because the second you got on the radar you've been getting away with murder, escaping consequences. The worst you got was the box," he glanced away from you when your eyes stared at the side of his face which had obviously been hideously burned.

 

You felt a cold lump in your stomach. You were definitely going to talk to Negan about this.

 

"But I think you've probably suffered more than maybe most people even should, so uh, I guess I don't have a reason to be that pissed off at you anymore, alright? We're cool, you've kind of done your time, and now I feel like a dick for being a...dick," he finished lamely.

 

You figured that was as close to an apology as you got, and smiled at him warmly, sticking your hand out.

 

"People call me Deadshot and it's nice to meet you,"

 

"My name is Dwight," he said dryly "-and I suppose it hasn't been bad meeting you either. I know you've stopped Negan getting his rage-on at me before. I don't know why you didn't say anything - I found out from fuckin' Simon of all people. Made me feel like a huge prick."

 

You just continued to smile, releasing his hand and turning away from him slowly.

 

"That's because you were. Have fun on guard duty!"

 

Dwight gave you a deadpan look, that simply told you that it was never fun, and left you in peace.

 

Time to organise your thoughts - and ask Negan about Dwight's face - and then... God. You had a lot of internal house keeping to do, you wanted to find out about Daryl in The Box, and then find out who was being sent to supervise the Alexandrians with the guns.

 

Ah, shit, Carl! He was probably worried about you - he was a sweet kid, and he probably knew exactly what happened to you. So first thing on the agenda was to clear shit with him and let him know you were going to be fine. You doubled back a second - glancing at the stockroom as a tired young brunette began to slide open the metal door with a loud screech that pierced the morning beauty.

 

Well, you'd make a stop first.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Don't Hold Your Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((it gets sexy here)))

You were utterly dismayed and confused to find that Carl wasn’t actually there – meaning he must have headed out even earlier than sunrise. Apparently, he couldn’t sleep, and Rick couldn’t really blame him. They’d come back with Michonne, who had been part of the encirclement from the trucks that came from Hilltop, and she’d taken him out to scavenge on the road to try to take his mind off of things. You couldn’t blame him, you’d exposed him to some real shit last night, and Rick was trying to reassure you, but you really weren’t in the mood to try to make awkward small talk with the man – however nice he was.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about our boy, Daryl. I know this is a bad time –“

 

You gave him a look which managed to silence him, holding up a hand and looking far more tired than you felt you had any right to be, after that lovely sleep in a real bed.

 

“I’m working on it,” you said curtly, dismissing the matter. Rick wanted to know why – but really, after knowing you for a little bit, it wasn’t hard to figure out. You were slowly undoing Negan – and some of his less reputable choices. “I’m going to try to convince him to release Daryl as an act of good faith now that we have Eugene,” at his questioning look, you sighed and shook your head.

 

“This isn’t what I want society to look like. It’s not going to be easy, so don’t hold your breath, but I won’t stop. I’ve been keeping some kind of loose track, he’s been in The Box since before I got here, during my own time in there, and after. That kind of solitary isn’t good for anyone. I would know,”

 

He opened his mouth, mouthing a few things but no words coming out – clearly struggling to find the words, until he decided to come out with it outright.

 

“Those people who took you,” he began. “When you said there were people worse than the Saviors, I didn’t really believe you, but you’re starting to change my mind. Now, I’m worried these people are going to come back. Do you think we could take them, y’know, if we had to?”

 

“Mr Grimes, you better hope we can, you don’t want to know what the alternative is,” you said seriously, backing out of the house and leaving him standing in the doorway, looking down at you worriedly. He could tell you were still in pain from your gimping, and it must have been reverberating through your body. He wanted to tell you to get to bed, but full well knew that it wasn’t his place. So instead, it just hurt to look at you.

 

“Stupid question, but how’re you holdin’ up?” he said, switching gears.

 

 

“It hurts to walk, it’ll hurt to shit and I only just stopped bleeding during the night,” you said, with all the subtlety of a brick. Rick grimaced, but some part of him appreciated it – the bluntness, it…well, to be frank, it reminded him of Abraham, and made an ache settle in his chest when he looked at you. “-but I’ll be fine,” you reassured.

 

“I can bet a lot of people are gonna ask me that, or be wondering it. I could do with none of the pity,” you added. “I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing it since before I got here.”

 

“I know – we know,” said Rick insistently, remembering the violence you had exerted against Shax. “You showed you were more than capable,” he soothed. “Anyone who thinks otherwise well…they weren’t payin’ attention,”

 

“Thanks,” you said after a moment. That was, strangely, exactly what you needed to hear. You left Rick in the door after saying goodbye and decided to take a walk. Or a stumble, if you were more accurate. The truth was, your mind was just awash in chaotic thoughts, trying to order all of them together. First there was whatever happened last night with Negan, which frankly, you didn’t know if Aaron even had it in him to help you hash out. Then, everything else.

 

You looked over at the training ground, and glanced at your stitched-up palms with a grimace. You couldn’t even train. The last thing you needed was people thinking you were incapable of functioning just because of the state you’d been dragged back to the compound in. At its heart, a violation of your bodily integrity was a power play as much as one of trauma, and sexual need, it was the ultimate manner of violently humbling someone before yourself and in your mind, Shax had done exactly that. You’d listen to Carson, of course, but it was important that people saw your face, and understood the simple fact that you were not defeated.

 

This was why Eugene had the surprise of seeing you in the munitions factory that morning, greeting him in with some other workers, and locked eyes with Simon, who’d been assigned your job while you were supposed to be resting.

 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here, boss ordered me to do your job for you,” said Simon, there was an underlying cattiness to his tone, but he was looking at you differently than usual.

 

“I may be down, but I’m not out. I’m sure I’m capable of overseeing munitions, if it’s an issue, direct Negan to me. You can go back to wanking off or whatever it is you do on your day off,” you returned, with equal, underlying cattiness. Simon gave you a levelled stare before he left, and considering the fact he usually called you ‘Shitbird’ – this was easily the most respectful interaction you’d ever had. Like it or not, it seems your act of physical extreme violence had landed some sort of positive impression upon him. You could see Eugene practically sag with relief, as Simon didn't treat him particularly well, you could imagine, he was palpably relieved to have you overseeing.

 

As soon as he was gone, the man inclined his head at you, speaking in his flat, strange, nerdy monotone.

 

"Thank you Ma'am, I was not looking forward to Simon breathing down my neck all day,"

 

"Before you ask, it hurts, I'm fine, and I'm going to do what I usually do," you said quickly, ushering Eugene to his work chair. "-I need to talk to you about something, actually. Since I wont be scavenging and we don't risk you on runs, I'm going to be here a lot more often than usual,"

 

Eugene gave you a guarded look as he slumped down into a chair, hands drifting toward a priming device. He looked a mess, covered in sweat, a shirt a few times too big - bags under his eyes, he just looked overworked, and tired. He watched as you walked strangely and winced horribly as you sat in the normal, hard chair you sat in when you were overseeing munitions.

 

"I found a bunch of stuff just shoved in a pile in the miscellanious sort pile in the stockroom. A lot of it is damaged technology, and I'm good at fixing that sort of thing, I was kind of hoping you might help me with some of it,"

 

"Science is more my speed, not engineering," he said warily "-now I can help ya, probably, but it really depends...."

 

"It was eventually going to come your way anyway so they let me take it, but being as they have you producing over here, they put it on the backburner. I just - well - no offence, you seem like the nerdy type, before the Rising. I was wondering if you'd just help me put some stuff together? I found an old games console and I was hoping to play a few rounds with Carl - and you - if you were interested. Pass the time a little? Look, I know bullet-packing is really dull," you glanced to the desk and sighed. "-I saw the power-rig we have set up and it's actually pretty good, we'll be running off of something besides oil soon if I can get the hydroelectric kit working, but I want to get back into it with something a little smaller to fix first,"

 

Eugene looked blank, but to his credit, he was nodding along and understood your words even if he didn't understand the process you were referring to.

 

"But I'll help you and get you through the load quicker, so if you help me out - everyone wins. Negan and Carson both expect me not to be doing anything but bed rest, but I don't want people assuming I'm completely out of it because of the state I was returned to in the compound. Strength is important to these people, Eugene," you said. He was perhaps, one of few people you weren't calling Sir, solely because he came across as more of a manchild to you than perhaps he intended, so it felt more natural that he felt a little like a peer. "Come on, man. Don't make me beg, just help me with this. I want to keep my mind active, I don't want to be laying in bed thinking about all the horrible things that have happened and were going to happen."

 

Eugene paused, and gave you a flat, unreadable look, the tiniest trace of anticipation sneaking into his monotone.

 

"What kinda games console we talkin' bout here, Ma'am?"

 

Bingo. That was the winning ticket.

 

This was also the first time you'd seen him truly excited - it was rare that there was much in the way of genuine excitement except when there was hauls being brought in. The compound had a definite air of oppression and stifling, something you'd done your very best to reduce. You thought, to some small extent, you were successful. People at least smiled when they saw you, which wasn't something that would have happened a few months. Not ever. They were a mean bloody bunch, you knew that much. Unknown to you, it was like you were a quasi-maternal figure, even at your young age, the fact that you balanced out a man who, a few months ago, was an untouchable God to most, made you the softer part to what they saw as a machine that needed both gears to function.

 

The pile of bullets was finished midday and you were surprised when nobody actually came looking for you. You figured that he probably needed a little space after last night - or he needed a quick fuck or something, you didn't really want to think about it, you needed the space yourself.

 

"You know, it was this console that Nintendo started region-locking so it could only play games released for this region, but you just have to modify the mouth of it to take it off so it can accept foreign games. Japan got a lot of cool stuff that we didn't get," said Eugene conversationally, unscrewing the mouth of the console after you put together and repaired some of the wiring.

 

"Somehow I don't think imported games is going to be a problem, but yeah, take that shit off anyway," you said with a shrug. "Weirder things have happened than coming across a Japan region game,"

 

Between the pair of you was a box of things you'd gotten from the miscellanious pile. He noticed a defunct radio which you had already started fixing while Eugene took to helping you get the console responsive again. This was peaceful. Putting machinery together was a lot easier than putting your life together, you mused. It was apparant that both of you liked to work in silence when it came to putting things together, so it was only broken when you began idly humming. There had also been some vinyls and CDs that you'd found in the miscellanious pile that nobody had claimed because they either didn't have a working way of playing it or just didn't like the music. There was a vinyl player that you fully intended on getting working, and a garishly covered stereo. You'd seen one in the room that the wives had been in when first introduced to you, and wagered it might be the only working player in camp besides the one in Dwight's truck.

 

Eugene, for the first time in a while, felt safe. Content. Dare he say it - even happy.

 

"Find any games for it?" Eugene broke the silence first.

 

You smiled mischeviously.

 

"Only one. But I think you'll agree it's the best. Not showing you until you're done," you teased. "I'm your boss after all. I have to enforce _some regulations_ Neck-Curtain."

 

Eugene, now properly comfortable with you, had the gall to roll his eyes, and smile a very small and tiny smile.

 

"Yes _Shegan_ ," he teased back, making you freeze. You dropped the screwdriver in your hands and gave the older man a wild-eyed look, like a deer caught in the headlights, he didn't even realise until you had stopped working until he realised you weren't going to go back to humming, and glanced at your startled look.

 

"Uh, no offence meant Ma'am - it's just, I mean, everyone just puts the two of you together since you're really close and all ---" he said, fumbling, and even with his social awkwardness, seemed to understand he'd made a faux pas. "You're like - the good cop - like, his good side. Sort of. Like a conscience, stopping him doin' some real scary stuff - so I mean, when I say Shegan I don't mean it like - badly - like you go around killin' people for fun or nothin--" shit, he just felt like he was digging a deeper hole.

 

 - _**Please** kiss the hell outta me, darlin' - _

 

You groaned, hands flying up to your face and hiding your features. All Eugene's words had done were remind you of the events of last night, making your face heat up unwillingly behind your scarred palms.

 

"Shut up Neck-Curtain, I can't even deal with this right now. I came here to take my mind _off_ of him,"

 

Eugene was wary, and keenly aware that he was stepping into uncharted territory he had no right being in, but found a needle of concern laden with curiosity inside of his gut.

 

"I know it's not my place to ask, but uh, did he do...something, Ma'am?"  you saw earnest curiosity as you peeked through your own fingers, and so you sighed - feeling obliged to answer him, since you hadn't been able to convince yourself to go and find Aaron to bother him, Eugene would have to do.

 

"No, _I did something to him -_ and before you get hopeful, no, it wasn't poison," you deadpanned, your cheeks still a light shade of red.

 

"Oh," said Eugene slowly, his lack of understanding starting to show, making your face heat up more.

 

"Forget about it," you muttered, getting up with a grimace and feeling the telltale ache in your body. It increased even more as Eugene watched you gimp your way over to one side of the wall and began squatting down, at great pain to yourself - and began wiggling at the ventilation shaft hinges until it came loose. You used the screwdriver you'd hocked from storage and aided the process, letting the nails flick out and roll around on the floor.

 

"What're you doing?" Eugene asked, frowning when you reached inside and retrieved water five bottles in both of your arms of strangely coloured liquid.

 

"Celebrating a hard day's work," you said curtly, walking to his table and dropping them one by one and opened one - which seemed like it was decompressing, letting out a smell which made all of Eugene's hair want to curl from how strong it was, it made his eyes water, like he'd sniffed really strong malt vinegar, but the smell was a lot sweeter. Sickeningly sweet.

 

"I couldn't find any booze in the stockroom so I've been letting some prison hooch ferment here, used to make it back at the base with Sarge a lot," you said, smiling widely. "-And here we have actual yeast and not shitty, moldy bread, this should be my best stuff yet,"

 

Eugene looked at you in disbelief.

 

"I couldn't keep it in the house or Aaron would have probably found it like the trash rat he is and drank it!" you said defensively.

 

He shook his head and cringed as you thrust the bottle against his chubby chest.

 

"Ma'am, I do not partake. I like to keep my senses sharp,"

 

"Don't be a pussy," was your eloquent retort. "-I'm not drinking alone and consider that an executive order from the _top,"_ you snorted humourlessly.  "Since I'm a) your boss, and b) Shegan."

 

"Momma always taught me not to give into peer pressure," Eugene tried, but was met with an unconvinced stare. _  
_

 

Well, now it was an order, and he couldn't say no, so he gingerly grabbed it with his short fingers and started trying to sip it - as though it was wine, making you snort, especially as he pulled a face like all of his features wanted to collapse in on themselves.

 

"That'll put an elephant down," Eugene said with a grimace. Mind you, it didn't taste bad at all, but it sat on his chest like a rhino and he'd only taken a light sip - he really wasn't a very good drinker, even before The Rising.

 

"You fucking chug it," you laughed at his strange, misplaced innocence.  "It's a shot drink, but if you dont do it as a shot, just chug it straight. You don't sip like its wine."

 

Against Eugene's better judgement, and you chanting-slash-ordering him to "chug, chug, chug," - he was necking the stuff, feeling the sickening sweetness of all of the sugar you'd put in drown out his senses, and the vaguely fruity aftertaste - since you'd grabbed a few fresh fruit with your points when you had actually earned some and put orange in there, peel and all. The man stopped when he'd drank only a quarter, slamming the bottle down and gripping his chest in slight pain from how heavily it sat, and began coughing and choking slightly for air.

 

You grinned, and chugged your own bottle with practiced ease, glancing at Eugene as he coughed and his face splotched with redness.

 

"That'll turn a man blind!" he accused, rubbing his eyes and wheezing.

 

"I've been making this for years, nobody's gone blind yet," you snorted, smiling so much that it would have hurt, but your face had gone numb from the sensation of the alcohol. "-Just really really bladdered and kinda sick,"

 

Eugene grimaced, getting out of his chair, only to sway and grab for the wall, feeling very much like he could be ill if he moved too fast.

 

"Oh God, it's hitting me all at wonce, 'am getting kinda drunk Ma'am," he fumbled, feeling his tongue slow down - like it was heavy, making you chuckle. Fucking hell. He was a lightweight. Then again, this was pretty much moonshine, and you made it as strong as you possibly could with what you had. You held yourself together much better than Eugene, who didn't clear his bottle, but got respectably close, he settled for groaning and slumping back in his chair when it felt like he couldn't stand anymore.

 

You snorted, feeling it drain the agony out of your body, and lay on the floor where some of the fixed or semi-fixed projects you'd brought along in the battered gym bag lay, with some tools and some small parts, and started humming again, staring at the ceiling.

 

Yeah. This had been a good, quiet day, after the horror of yesterday.

 

It even felt kind of normal.

 

"You're too young for that band," Eugene accused, it was now you noticed he'd moved to the floor with you, and was going through the box - and finally put two and two together, and that you were humming a track from one of the vinyls that you hadn't actually got to listen to yet.

 

"My mother had a _bitchin'_ vinyl stack, okay?" you said, closing your eyes and donning a dopey smile as Eugene watched over you.  "At least, till my old man got angry and threw it out just to hurt her. I dug through the trash and got it all out and kept it in my room instead. Waited for him to come back reaaaaaaaaaaaal drunk one night, knowing he'd keep us up till 3AM on a school night with his shouting and his fightin' n' shit...."

 

"...waited for 6AM when I was sure he'd be sleepin' - and whacked on the closest vinyl I found, got him _so pissed,"_ you smiled fondly at the memory. It had been karma and well deserved, even if the ass-whoopin that followed had sucked.

 

"Your momma had good taste," said Eugene, picking up the vinyl album which had a pink truck - now on slightly molded - cardboard, and in all honesty, it was probably that eroded looking even before The Rising, the blackened words of ' _There Might Be Giants'_ in semi-chipped lettering.  "This band is the reason I got into science. Meet the Elements was the first song of theirs I remember really sinkin' in and me likin',"

 

You snorted, opening your eyes just to roll them and grin in the direction of Eugene.

 

"Sooooo.....If you listened to _The Mesopotamians_ first you'd have been a history buff then?"

 

"Probably," Eugene admitted "But you gotta admit, all their tunes were catchy,"

 

God, you missed shit like this. Just talking about things that were benign and normal before the world was an absolute shitshow, and you could tell Eugene needed it too, he was smiling like he hadn't smiled in years. You sat up suddenly, making your own head spin, and grabbed the record player and tiredly cranked it, watching Eugene smile and clumsily try to put the large, black disk in. He was now drunk enough that this didn't seem like a bad idea.

 

All the work was done, anyway.

 

_I'm your only friend - I'm not your only friend, but I'm a little glowin' friend...._

 

What neither of you anticipated was how much the sound could echo in the room, nor how much could leak out from the metallic doors of the warehouse-turned-munitions-factory. It didn't seem that bad to you two though, but admittedly, judgement was somewhat impaired.

 

_But really I'm not actually your friend - But I am..._

 

The two of you found yourselves back to back on the floor, surrounded by the bag of miscellanious projects, shooting the shit for what must have been hours after how early you'd concluded the work day. Both of your hands were covered in gunpowder, and there was a heavy smell of citrus and alcohol permeating in the warehouse when one of the bottles spilled.

 

_Blue canary in-the-outlet-by-the-light-switch!_

 

_Whooo watches over youuuuu...._

 

You were on your second, keeping it between your legs and sighing against Eugene's soft, squishy back as the music washed over the factory. None of the workers complained, in fact, it felt like it was boosting morale slightly, so that was something, at least. God, for a moment, you were actually happy, and this little escapism into something normal worked, a deep noise escaping your diaphagram, bringing the half-full bottle to your lips, and belting out - making Eugene actually laugh. A noise you'd never heard him make before you, which just encouraged you more.

 

 _"_ Make a little birdhouse in your _souuuulllllll!_ "  you grinned, practically beaming, with your eyes shut against the man and matching his laughter between short drunken burps.

 

For a second, the two of you were normal, walking, talking, singing, laughing, crying, loving humans before the world had gone to shit and the moment was so beautiful that neither of you heard the loud metal screech of the door to the warehouse sliding open.

 

"I'd have love someone like you in my classes," - before you could question what Eugene was talking about, mid-tune, someone drowned you out.

 

"What the FUCK do you think you're doing?" a loud, familiar, angry voice washed over you. And you, filled with dutch courage, and not bothering to open your eyes at the beginning of your tirade, necked a little bit more of the tainted waterbottle, and snarled back in a tone that was actually louder than you intended. You automatically knew it was Simon, Simon - who, despite respecting you a little more, you were sure he had it out for you, and often counselled against your advice to Negan, sometimes because he believed you to be wrong, but more often to annoy you - you were sure. He despised the amount of power you had accrued so quickly.

 

So, nasty, inebriated, unfiltered words spilled out before you opened your eyes fully.

 

"Oh _look! It's Handlebar the One-Man Fun Gestapo! Listen here you -_ the work is _done early - **and** some extra _ so you just _\--_ " you staggered to your feet, not feeling the ache in your body from all of the alcohol you'd drank, but you saw the bigger figure next to him - clad in leather and dark pants, and with an utterly agitated expression, which morphed into one of slight confusion, just trying to absorb what he'd walked in on. You raised your hands in mock-surrender, only for your eyes to widen when they landed on Negan.

 

"......Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite," you said, as Eugene curled up in a mixture of drunken terror and slight amusement at what you'd called Simon, slapping his hand over his entirely red face, and then you promptly hiccuped - unable to hide the fact you were fairly obviously intoxicated. Especially if the fact you hadn't slurred the word "Fun Gestapo" so horribly hadn't given it away.

 

Negan was silent, walking over to you and glancing at the pile of freshly made bullets, picking one up with his hand and holding it close to his eye, observing the quality.

 

"It all seems to be in order," he said, surprising Simon, who cursed violently.

 

"In order? They're drunk!"

 

You glared in Simon's direction, before stumbling to Negan and doing your best to hold yourself with some decorum, but you just hated that he so obviously had it out for you. Clearly, Negan hadn't been available in the day, probably managing the groups after all of them had been forced to work together, and so Simon had likely gone out of his way to wait for his duty to finish, then drag Negan here to show you'd disobeyed orders and weren't resting, after effectively dismissing him.

 

"Yeah well," you spluttered, feeling your agitation at Simon boil over, unfortunately, it didn't boil over into anything intelligent. "Your mustache is gay. But you don't see me running to Negan about it!"

 

There was silence, save for the unholy noise that left Eugene as he was both curled up in terror and trying to hide the fact that your inappropriate behaviour made him want to bust a gut laughing. Clearly, whatever you were supposed to say - it wasn't that - and the look on Simon's face showed he was positively incensed. He had to stomp all over it the second he heard Negan let out an unexpected bellow from the bottom of his stomach. A deep belly laugh that he'd never heard the boss make - chuckles sure, but nothing like this.

 

Clearly, Negan didn't expect your response either.

 

"I came here to ask what the fuck don't you understand about bed rest?" he said, still smiling, not even looking at the fact that Simon was a mixture of furious, humiliated, and not the least bit amused. Negan watched as you staggered over to him, pressing your hands against the front of his leather jacket and your chin against his chest in what was ultimately, a very close manner, that Negan didn't outwardly stop or react to.

 

"Sorry," he looked down at you, and saw that, despite the telltale scent of alcohol wafting out of your lips, it was utterly genuine, your previously agitated expression drawn into a gentle, furrowed look. "I just..."

 

Eugene didn't say anything, still curled up in abject terror.

 

"I just wanted to show everyone 'm still useful," you sighed, throwing your arms daringly around his neck - yeah, you were definitely drunk, and also needed to support yourself a bit, because you could feel your legs really wanting to fail you, and judging from the empties he could see, he wasn't surprised. "Strength's important..." you slurred out, trying desperately to convey your thought process as much as a drunk person could.

 

"Wanted to feel normal, so... came down to...chill with Eugene... cos... normal...and wanted to make 'self useful...." you mumbled.

 

Negan sighed, before rolling his eyes, not actually pushing you off of him, but instead putting a hand on your left shoulder and glancing over your short body with incredible ease to the assortment of things dragged from storage which had been in the miscellanious pile.

 

"What's all this shit?" he asked sharply.

 

This time, Eugene found his voice, and answered for you.

 

"She... helped me finish early... cos she wanted my help with the... miscel...mish...mishck...." Eugene frowned - struggling to say the word in his inebriation "-the random stuff box from the warehouse because it wasn't working..." - he managed, before shrinking under both their stares, and muttering a soft apology under his breath.

 

That explained  a lot and very little at the same time, the song ended, and the record player ran out of cranked power, finally washing the warehouse in silence, apart from your gentle hiccups.

 

"I wanted to make you a present," you admitted - though the word present, came out a little more like 'preshent' - and this made him utterly confused. He could decode what your slurred words were with ease, but what he couldn't decode was your reasoning. "As a thank you for the - bath - " you hiccuped "-but I didn't...know what you liked....so....I was gonna fix all of it - 'n see what worked. Since I can't go out and scavenge. I just thought..."

 

God, you were annoying, and Negan had been positively vexed when he woke up to an empty bed and then found himself too busy to find you to deal with it, but now, you'd - not for the first time - managed to take the wind out of his sails.

 

"I just wanted to....take my mind off...everything..." you blushed with some degree of embarrassment, just because Negan's stare was so intense, judgemental and positively scathing when you didn't know if he was angry at you or not. "-and I wanted to check on the hooch I left a while ago," you admitted.

 

"I can tell," said Negan dryly, the only sign that he wasn't angry, but you couldn't be sure. You pressed the side of your face against his leather chest, happy when he didn't stop you, and seemed more amused by your inebriated antics than anything, he'd have been mad if the work hadn't been done though - you were sure. He walked over, half-carrying you with incredible ease, and picked up an open bottle, sniffing it and blinking away the tears that gathered in his eyes with a startled look.

 

"Fuck me sideways!" Negan blurted out. "-That'll put hair on your chest, no wonder you two are fuckin' wasted."

 

Eugene piped up weakly - perhaps it was the dutch courage.

 

"F-f-fer the record. I plead peer presure. She made me 'n called me a pussy if I didn't chug,"

 

You withered under both of their stares, and smiled sheepishly, mumbling into the man's jacket and feeling your stomach knot nervously.

 

"Am I in trouble?" - a strange, almost childlike shyness wheedling into your tone, because you hadn't managed to get yourself in any serious trouble since the time you had been put in The Box. Negan pulled you back a little so you could stare up at him, his large hands grabbing you gently by the chin and holding you up as he sniffed your breath as though he could sense how much you'd puff on a breathaliser (and in that moment, you'd have easily believed he could...).

 

"I think the punishment y'alls bodies are gonna give you in the morning is gonna be punishment enough," he stated "-if the work hadn't been done, I'd be a lot less leniant,"

 

His lips twitched as he glanced over at the obviously seething Simon.

 

"But I'm not taking the award of Fun Gestapo away from dear old Handlebar,"

 

* * *

 

 

Ugh. Your head was hurting and feeling was returning to your face. The cold air outside the heat of the warehouse was painfully sobering and you could feel Negan's arm around you as he walked you silently to wherever you'd be sleeping. In truth, you actually didn't know if you'd be with him from now on, or back in the house with the boys. You would have gone with the latter, just so you didn't rudely make assumptions - but as he led you to the familiar sight of one of his favourite homes on the compound, you found yourself very quickly mistaken.

 

"I stay here...? For...for like, ever?"

 

Obviously, he hadn't been clear enough, and the alcohol seemed to remove the filter of what were thoughts and what was speech, which was fine by Negan, he actually preferred it when he could see whatever the hell was going on in your head.

 

"Yes," said Negan curtly. "-Unless I stay otherwise. You stay where I put you. I'm putting you to bed - to sober up,"

 

You hiccuped and grimaced at the idea of sleeping, mostly because of the amount of pain you'd be in when you woke up - you'd rather just be drunk forever, if you were honest. You felt your stomach lurch as you found it difficult to walk - and for once, not from the pain in your backside, but just from how much alcohol content had been in the hooch. You noticed that he'd stuffed a lot of what you'd worked on and some of the unopened bottles in the battered gym bag all of the items came in, and had it on his back. Probably to check out the extent of your handiwork - the idea of getting a present was still absolutely foreign and strange to him. He struggled to predict you at all, but he understood some of your reasoning when you said you wanted normalcy.

 

Normalcy for you was going and doing munitions with Eugene, or working on complex machinery - and while he couldn't provide you with as much of that as a military base could, he was very aware of the fact you were trying to maintain a veneer of strength as well as try to feel like things hadn't changed after the incident with Shax.

 

"You come too?" you asked, it sounded disgustingly more hopeful than you wanted it too - but Negan just sort of grunted by way of response.

 

"Sure."

 

You frowned, and didn't say anything until he all but tucked you in, moving to take his clothes off in the way that he had the night previous. You sat up and glanced down, doing the same with your tight flannel - because it was just tight enough not to be massively comfortable to sleep in. There had been a wave of silence, broken only when you flopped backwards on the bed, shoes kicked off and comfortable boxers being the only thing you had on.

 

Which, y'know, was fine when Negan did it, a little less fine when you did it.

 

"I need pyjamas, which, isn't something I thought I'd say in this new world, but yeah," you said lamely "-I slept in this last night and it wasn't the most comfortable thing," - then, remembering how he'd actually asked your permission the night prior to remove his pants, you looked up at him worriedly, a little more sobered having walked through the compound and the evening airs.

 

"Is this okay? I mean you've seen me naked loads before so...." you trailed off, brows furrowed in light confusion.

 

Negan just nodded silently, slowly closing the curtains and not saying much. You found yoursefl rather worried by his silence, he'd been laughing at your antics a moment ago. It was uncomfortable to you, to say the least, darker tones washing over the room as the evening light was blocked out. He was silent as he crawled into the sheets, using that irrefutably Negan habit of morphing into something absolutely impossible to read. Your head welcomed the soft pillow and sheets over your torso anyway, and you wriggled closer to the man, aiming to replicate the position you had slept best in the night prior.

 

"What're you doing?" his voice was sharp, and firm.

 

You froze, hands pressed against his hair-lined chest, an expression of being truly startled on your face - and a little worried.

 

"Um, last night- you said I could - so I was gonna - " you babbled, only for Negan to frown, and gently tell you no as you pushed yourself against him in confusion, making him draw his eyes shut and curse softly under his breathe.

 

"You're gonna have to turn around and let me hold you that way instead," said Negan bluntly, his eyes drinking in your body as they had many times before.

 

"Why?" you half-whined, you had been comfortable, and it had been nice. You attempted to knead your legs in with his, and while he didn't stop you, he was cringing and keeping his eyes shut as he parted his longer legs so you could lock in with him, your knee gently coming up at the crotch of his boxers as your breasts pressed against his body.

 

"Because I'm just a man of flesh and blood and while I would never do anything untoward to you - as you fuckin' well know - you're making my cock hurt and I can't stop it," he grumbled, grimacing as your knee gently massaged the area between his legs and it felt so good - but it was horribly wrong - at the worst possible timing - for so many reasons. You gasped, feeling a heat wash over you from the unexpectedness- you truly hadn't meant to do that. He'd seen you in the nude enough - you thought he could deal with feeling it against him, and you didn't see why it was such a problem. Just because he had an erection didn't mean he had to do something about it - you were more startled that it was your scarred up, hard muscled body which had done it. Unless it really did hurt if he didn't touch it. You just assumed that was a lie men told so that they could get a leg over, but the strangely flushed look on his face made you want to believe him. It was - admittedly - in any other situation, a very sexy scenario to be in.

 

"And you're drunk," he added smugly - happy to have another defence to your ministrations - because every part of him screamed at him not to actually say no - but God - he really needed to tell you no. For your own good. He had some moral fibre - however tiny it was.

 

"I can reason," you shot back, scowling at him, your knee rubbing intensifying noticably on purpose this time to prove a conscious act  - forcing the material to rub against him in way that just felt so - good - that he opened his eyes just to take all of you in. You were blushing horribly - you weren't exactly aroused, but the situation was hot - and you easily relished in the power, just as you had done the previous night, overwhelming him with chaste passion. This was much less chaste. You weren't even sure why you were doing it, just that you wanted to. The power was nauseating and wonderful - but you weren't going to force yourself on him, you were just going to enjoy making him want you. If he was really better than everyone before - he wouldn't hurt you. It was almost like a sick kind of test, at least, at first.

 

"I'd rather not be a morning regret," said Negan with a frown, making you stop and look at him in confusion.

 

Then it made sense. God - you thought - you didn't expect him to be such a fucking girl about it - but now it made sense. He hadn't liked waking up to an empty bed - and it appeared as though he'd taken some personal offence to it.

 

"Fuckin' - is that what you thought?"

 

"You left," said Negan still frowning "-after an order for bed rest, the fuck was I supposed to think? Women think men can read their minds or some shit. I woke up and found you gone, after you already regretted kissin' on me - not that I minded - "

 

"And then I kissed 'on you' several fucking times after the fact just to prove to myself I wanted to," you sniped back, explaining it to him like he was a rather slow child - and after you said that, he almost did feel like one, realising that his own conclusions had been muddied with a bit of paranoia and perhaps he had focused on the wrong thing. "-I got up and left because I wanted to feel normal and in case you didn't notice, I always wake up at the ass crack of dawn, usually to train, but I noticed I hurt too bad to do any realistically. I was just trying to go on like normal. I didn't mean - fuck - look. I don't know what we are. I don't know what being Your Best Girl even fucking means, but I'm pretty sure I know what I want,"

 

Negan went quiet.

 

"Oh."

 

Yeah. Oh. 

 

He couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face - which quickly dropped as he resisted the urge to shiver, feeling you shift around in the sheets and move down his body so your skin was pressed against his boxers, his heart, suddenly thumping louder against his rib cage - your face, perhaps, far too close to a very intimate area that he personally didn't think you were ready to be around. You couldn't understand his discomfort when you smiled up at him, face blushing and breasts pushed against his thighs, lining the thick, hard lump of his erection between them.

 

Negan was sure the image was going to be burned in his mind forever, particularly in the shower.

 

"What're you doin' down there?" his voice, a mixture of his silly persona, and one entirely unsure.  "You don't have to - look," he frowned - trying to be a bit serious, chewing on his lip in a decidedly vulnerable manner that you thought was extremely attractive to see on his face. "I don't think you're ready for what's down there," he smirked.

 

"You're still hurting," he added "-and - you don't have the best judgement,"

 

You glanced up at him, and felt yourself get a little daring, sliding back up his torso innocently. You still didn't really feel really aroused, but you were getting a bit hot under the figurative collar and he could feel your skin heating up against his, eyes glittering up at him, alcohol rolling off your breath. His words were painfully accurate, so you simply flopped against him, feeling the dutch courage roaring inside you. Your sudden dominance - reminding Negan of the night prior, the more forceful, insistant kiss - the neediness - the words...

 

_Nobody ever let me do the touching._

 

And how he said you could touch him however you wanted too.

 

What you said next threw Negan for a loop, it was so blunt that he didn't know what else he expected being as it was you saying it - but still. Wow. Just - wow.

 

"Y'know if you want to rub one out, you can. I won't care, if that's what it takes to get us to the same place as last night," you said, a slight mischevious grin on your face, making him give you a look that was a mixture of shock and something else. He was still firmly of the idea it was bad to do anything to you - it had only been a day, and you'd been drinking, and you were a mess. You didn't know where you stood with him and said as much.  "-I know it's been a while since you've seen your wives and I don't know how often you beat it so..."

 

Negan, somehow finding his senses, was able to sound a little more like his cocky self.

 

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually have the time to sit around and jack off all day, I actually do things to run this camp," he grinned.

 

You giggled against him - making him smile wider, his hand going innocently into your hair and brushing it backwards, feeling it run through his fingers like silk. He moved it down your shoulder, then your arm, and wished briefly that he had slightly less morals, because he really wanted to grope at your chest, but again, was of the firm belief of not doing anything to you when you were like this - knowing you'd thank him for it in the morning when you'd slept on everything and thought about it. He blinked as your arms moved under the sheets and you began pushing down your boxers - well, the pair of his that you'd commandeered, making him curse internally more.

 

You were going to test every wit of restraint he had and you both knew it.

 

"I mean, you can rub it against me if you want to, I won't mind," your voice quiet, shyer - because you were dirty talking now - in that fucking accent of yours, without having a real clue of just what it was doing to him. "Unless you think I'm sloppy seconds or something," a trace of potential hurt in your tone, enough that it felt like a slap to the face.

 

Negan swore, a strange fire coming into his eyes, you gasped as you felt the hand that was on your shoulder grabbing you with more force, and his much larger body bucking against your naked one - the silk of his boxers and his hardness grinding against your thighs steadily, a hiss leaving from his lips - his aggression desperate to refuse the statement you made.

 

"Not even fucking close. But this isn't happening, not like this - "

 

You smirked at him, feeling power returning to you and your confidence soothed a little by his words and his actions. You could feel it utterly standing to attention, pushing against the band of his boxers and tip peeking out to press against his stomach - feeling it against your own. Now, admittedly - you were starting to feel a little hot.

 

"You're not a rebound either y'know," you added suddenly, eyes fluttering closed for a second. "-I just want to .... please let - let me do something for you. I want to thank you,"

 

Oh god, it was sad as it was hot, and Negan felt an uncomfortable churn of emotions in his gut as you all but whimpered. You didn't have to thank him - like this - for basic human care after a horrible trauma, but you were reflecting that it was all you really knew, because adults just took, and took, and took from you - but you wanted to touch him, and you were so fucking arousing. He'd never actually been an object of desire, his wives were admittedly, coerced, and even the namesake of his bat - he'd loved the shit out of her, but it hadn't exactly been a happy marriage.

 

"Y-you don't...have to...do anything like that..." Negan shuddered, feeling you take lead and shove his boxers down in one cruel swoop, forcing his bare skin to touch yours and an ache shot through his balls from such a pent up need to release - or just touch - more.... "I'm not like them -- I--" he gasped out sharply, feeling your hand wrapping shyly around the base of his cock and his ability to speak rendered silent for a hot steaming second as he regained his senses.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

"If you don't want it you can tell me not to and I won't but I want to,"

 

FUCK.

 

"- Oh god - why? - I mean - fuck yes  - touch me any way you want to - " he gasped out, feeling you test out how firm you wanted your hand against him before shyly moving it down his shaft, feeling his heart beating through his cock as it throbbed in your hands, your cheeks flushing deeply.

 

"I don't know," you groaned "-you might be the only person I dont feel bad being with. I think you're hot. You saved me? You gave me purpose? The fuck you want me to say Negan?" you mumbled helplessly. "You're the first person who hasn't hurt me since I left the bayou but you actually make me feel wanted instead of just needed. You came back for me and I don't know if it's some hero syndrome bullshit or what but I want to,"

 

You stroked him, and he closed his eyes, hips twitching against your hand as he lay on the bed in disbelief - that this was really happening - that you were initiating - and that you wanted to do it.

 

"I like the control," you confessed, eyes unable to leave all the expressions Negan was making - drinking them in, savouring them - a strange sensation curling in your stomach like how much raw attraction you had was fighting for attention over your emotions, it was a strange brew but it created an intoxicating amount of desire that wasn't necessarily happening in your own loins but you had to admit, it was getting there. You felt like you could say anything, and you could blame it on the alcohol.

 

So you did.

 

"I've never had control before, but I like it. I like making you feel like this instead of just being forced to feel a certain way - from all the hands I don't want on me. I want t-to ...to see all the faces you can make, and the noises," you admitted - even the sound of his breathing - in, out, in, out, in, out - was doing horrible things to your borderline teenage mind - making you think of all kinds of things he could be doing in similar fashion.

 

His eyes opened to stare at you in disbelief. Now you were full on dirty talking whether you knew it or not, and had no idea what it was doing to him - as if it wasn't bad enough having his cock in your hand.

 

"And I know I like it a bit too much, cos I did it too young. Some people never want to fuck again if they're exposed too young, but some people can't stop," you said, a hint of bitterness in your tone, knowing the amount of people who had abused your sexuality as a result of that. You closed your eyes, a slight, strange, misplaced sense of shame washing over you as you jacked him off.

 

"So I t-think I'm..." you flushed darkly, feeling yourself confessing as you touched him, because you were seriously contemplating sliding his member inside of you and it'd feel just so fucking good - and you could forget who was there before - and feel so... "I think I'm wet,"

 

Negan cursed loudly, his hips bucking against your hand almost wildly, hating himself for his own words.

 

"It's gonna hurt you if I do and I **can't** do that - I can't do that - fuck - **_fuck_** , stop talking, _you don't know what this is doing to me!_ " he hissed - he wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible - he wanted to feel your bruised hands, relishing in touching his cock, watching the way your breasts bounce - it was already so intoxicating but the words were getting too much. This was so, insanely, stupidly hot and he was certain he was going to wake up alone with a mess in his shorts - but it was real. Fucking hell. You were real - and you wanted him - and he couldn't have you - and it was driving him insane.

 

You smirked, seeing the urgency in his face and an ache in your arm from the vigorous movement under the sheet - up and down, up and down, feeling warmth trailing down your knuckles as the man, even at forty, was a fucking geyser for precum - showing just how backed up he actually was, and how badly he needed release. All of the redness had swollen to the head, and you ghosted your thumb across the slit, watching as he bit threw his lower lip and made it draw blood. He occasionally had to force himself to glance away - just the sight of you doing it was almost too much.

 

"Let me thank you," you breathed out through a half-lidded stare - he swore more. "I'll take care of it," he shivered - oh yes - how he wanted you to, he felt you move his head with your free hand, forcing him to look at your flushed cheeks, before moving it down his pectorals as though relishing in his bare body.

 

Again, not something he thought he'd ever experience despite the amount of experience he had.

 

Suddenly, a devilish idea came to you.

 

You were going to address the harem.

 

Yes. Right. Fucking. Now. With his cock in your hands, while he was melting under your touch, and utterly under your spell, he was at his most vulnerable - and thus, when he was at his least 'Negan'.

 

"What's the matter? Don't your wives do this for you?" you smirked - but in truth you actually wanted an answer. He stared at you in a mixture of pleasure which shifted to disbelief - he couldn't believe you were trying to have _that_ conversation - right fucking now. "I guess it's a quick pump and dump, huh?"

 

Negan gave you a half-hearted glare, watching as you moved down his body, still holding his cock, but slowing down noticably, allowing him to catch his breath.

 

"Really? Now? Fucking really?" a genuine whine in his tone.

 

"I don't like your harem," you said bluntly, slowly coating him in the heavy reams of clear liquid and then, surprising him, joining your other hand, mimicking a tight, warm tunnel with your kneaded hands, as though you knew exactly what felt good for him and made his thighs twitch as you stilled your fingers, forcing him to try to fuck your hands himself, only he couldn't move his legs and therefore his hips much, because you moved to sit on them.

 

"And...why?" he panted "-is Best Girl not enough?"

 

You gave him a flat look, and shook your head as though he'd said something pointless.

 

"They're sad. They're coerced. Or they're doing it to be lazy, and not actually contribute to the camp. Just because they don't push you off when you come in doesn't mean they want it or they're happy," you started to move your hands up his cock again, but painfully slowly.

 

Negan didn't say anything - he wanted to know where you were going with this.

 

"You're no Chuck," you added, blushing deeply from the sheer nerve of what you were doing. "You're nothing like all of them, but you're only slightly better - and I can't help but think...." you swallowed thickly, trying to find the roaring courage from the fading alcoholism.  "-from how hard you are right now..."

 

Negan groaned - looking at you with an expression of enthralled, pissed off and desperate.

 

"-that you _want_ to be _wanted-_ "

 

He shivered, and then you did something which made your ears burn a bright red - and his eyes went wide - as he didn't expect it either. That pissed off feeling draining and any energy that had gone into it, quickly pooling southways to his cock - and he was certain by now that he was so hard it hurt, but it hurt so good - he didn't want it to end, while simultaneously wishing he could just finish and release himself from the agony and jump over that line of absolute pleasure you'd been dancing over for minutes now. He watched - unable to blink, as you pushed your knees apart and leaned further on your backside, ignoring the minor tingle of pain to expose yourself utterly - a fine sheen of transparant wetness spread down your crotch and where your strong, muscled thighs had met.

 

"How many of them shove their hands up their dresses thinking excitedly about the next time you pull your trousers down and fuck them?" you said bluntly, your own heart racing. 

 

Negan was silent, bucking his hips up against the tunnel made by your hands, eyes unable to leave the sight of your wet pussy - and it was clear what he was fantasizing about, shoving himself inside of you - like your hands were the real thing, which was tantalisingly close.

 

"How many of them touch themselves, thinking about you?"

 

Negan couldn't answer, but he knew it was easily zero - they were all coerced. All of them. In some way.

 

"How many of them get hot all over thinking about you touching yourself over them?"

 

He gazed up at you, finding himself short of breath. Holy shit - you were really something else - he didn't know how you were coming up with this, unless it was rooted in something else, and glancing down at your wetness, he wanted to believe it to be your own desires.

 

"Would _you_ get hot over that?" he said breathlessly, unable to recognise his own voice - it had been a while since he'd been this kind of sexual - it was fucking thrilling and he needed to know, not just want to know, absolutely _needed._

 

You bit down on your lip, glancing down at yourself as you moved both hands in time with his hips.

 

"I already did. I said you could, didn't I?" you had to admit - the beginning sensations of tingles between your thighs had hinted around that time, but you had faught the sensations as long as you could, like a misbehaving holy type  "Those things would get me hot, 'cos for some reason, I think I like you, which is more than your wives can say, which is why I don't like them,"

 

"They get to have all of you to themselves, and they don't even want it," you closed your eyes, and jerked him off a little faster - needing to hear him moan - and he did.  "-And I hate sharing, I really fuckin' do. I hate the idea of you inside them when they close their eyes and wish it was someone else. I hate the idea of you going to someone elses bed when there's a warm place right next to me,"

 

"I don't know when I started to hate it _this much_ , but I do. I always did to some extent, but now I want you? Now it's somethin' else," you groaned. "I don't know what. I hate being a Best Girl. Or a Mistress. Or some shit like that. I'm not the Best Girl, I'm _the_ girl," you said insistently.

 

When you didn't get an answer, he watched as you possessively slunk down his body - and, swallowing your sense of sexual shame, you shyly ran your tongue up his length - a move he didn't expect - not at all - utterly out of left field, he almost blinked but let his eyes water and leak just so he could watch you put your shy little tongue on his most intimate part and actually _want to put it there._

 

"I'm the one who fixes everything you fuck up, I'm the one who supports you when people don't, I'm the one whose there even after you put me in the box, it shouldn't be anyone else," you whimpered. "I'm always second best, and I'm not in the mood to do that shit again,"

 

"Oh God," Negan moaned - this night was turning into the best night yet, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt a tongue down there, his wives hated that and he never once wanted to force them to do it, not when he could see them cry, but there was _you -_ a sexually charged beast, and he couldn't control himself. "You're the girl. You're my girl. You can be the fucking Queen if you want to," he wasn't sure if that was fully his head, or just his cock talking, probably both, but he meant it all the same. Touching didn't feel like this unless it was meant to be - and he could throw away six pump and dumps for a fucking _lifetime_ of whatever the fuck this was.

 

"I'll fix it - I'll get rid of them - I don't - I just don't want you to fuckin' stop - oh God, you don't know how long it's been since I've had my cock sucked," he moaned - throwing his head back slowly as he felt your lips closing around the head of his cock, because he knew if he looked right then, he wouldn't be able to control himself and he'd probably cum on the spot. You felt yourself blushing from his own language, and felt yourself guiltily needling a finger inside of yourself, just to abate the aching sensation - this way, you wouldn't hurt yourself. You could at least touch yourself. And God - it was so fucking hot - you actually wanted it- you found yourself fantasizing about it, and now you were actually doing it and it didn't feel riddled with shame and guilt.

 

Negan lost himself in the sensation of your tongue around him, rubbing the underside, feeling the head poking at your cheeks as they closed around him to create a beautifully warm pocket of heat and saliva that made him want to start ramming himself into your mouth until you choked on it, barely stopping himself as you lavished him. Lavished - savoured - lapped him up like he was the answer to everything your mouth had ever wanted.

 

"Good girl," he moaned, gasping sharply between every statement he managed to utter out as he felt you swallowing deeper and moving your head with rhythm against his thighs, burying him into your lips as much as you could. "G-good, so good, m-my good girl--"

 

He was buckling, he was losing it, he was vulnerable - it was turning you on - he was dripping precum down your throat like a fucking leaking faucet and it was just making you rub at yourself harder, and suck needier. When he opened his eyes and saw your left arm moving up and down, he almost came right then, and both hands flew into your long locks from both sides and he found himself pushing you down with force, thrusting with an almost angry need now.

 

" _ **FUCK!--**_ " he cursed loudly.

 

He lost control over himself - and it might have hurt you slightly, the way he heard you gag around him - but moan and make the walls of your throat vibrate in that way that felt so fucking good - and your hand had slipped more fingers in and slid into you with more aggression to match it - narrowly telling him you liked it or at least could keep up.

 

_" I'm sorry - I need - I can't -  "_

 

 _" - I'm sorry, I'm sorry - "_ he gasped out, knowing that he had made you gag but unable to stop himself rutting against your face like an animal, wildly thrusting himself into your mouth like the world depended on his orgasm because he couldn't hold it in anymore and the sight of you touching yourself to the act of sucking his cock had driven him past the point of no return. His eyes rolled back into his skull and he hadn't seen it coming, truly, or he might have moaned out some warning. He rode himself down your throat, feeling himself tighten and then long reems of pleasure leave the head of his cock with such force he didn't know how the head didn't split from the pleasure that hit him so hard that it actually hurt. But fuck, did it hurt good.  He'd not been that vocal in a long time either, the kind of noise that left him - he so seldom heard himself make. His moans were usually deep, but quiet, this was loud, deep and almost echoing, drawing itself from the base of his gut all the way to his throat. He didn't even realise you'd reached orgasm until he forced his eyes open, slowly thrusting now, as though milking himself for every last bit of cum even though it pained all of the pleasure nerves already raised, he merely met your gentler sucking motions with his hips, which you were doing insistently, once he'd finished splurting down your throat.

 

He was panting, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, which showed as his neck had gone utterly red, and you were now sat up on the bed, looking down at your shining hand in a mixture of misplaced meekness, clearly a little embarrassed with the fact you'd climaxed from touching yourself over this - and all of the dirty things you'd said in the heat of the moment. You didn't regret it, of course, but the two of you lay next to each other, panting, tingling - toes curled and looking distinctly dishevelled.

 

It was Negan who actually broke the silence, surprisingly.

 

"Holy fucking shit," he panted, closing his eyes "-you manage to have some fun?"

 

You flushed darkly, and mumbled out a hoarse "Yeah."

 

"You made me feel like a fucking seventeen year old boy," the man muttered closing his eyes and groaning. "I have more restraint than this."

 

"Are you saying we shouldn't have...?" you said, slightly hurt, but mostly wary and confused.

 

"Fuck no, I'm glad we did, but waiting might have been smarter," he smirked, turning his head to face you. "Because then I could have returned the favour, y'know."

 

You blushed a shade so dark that you didn't know how you didn't pass out on the spot, even despite all you'd just done - your power high was slowly subsiding in the midst of your mutual after glow, and now, you were returning to yourself a bit more, and the tables were turning back to Negan. The idea of having the favour returned was clearly a nearly foreign experience for you - he could infer that much just from your reaction.

 

"Just so we're clear, you're not 'used' - I never want to hear that shit again, got it?" he said, suddenly quite serious, making you mumble an assent tiredly. Your jaw ached, and now, admittedly, you wanted to sleep in your afterglow. He paused, and pulled you up so you were closer to him, and could tuck yourself into his sweaty chest - you weren't complaining, you just didn't take the man to be much of a cuddler. You were, apparantly, quite wrong.

 

"I haven't actually felt _hot_ in a while," he admitted, strangely vulnerable in his afterglow. "I mean, I'm hotshit," he smirked "-but I don't think I've been someone's masturbation fantasy...ever."

 

You hid yourself in his chest, clearly not ready to have any more conversation, but knew he would probably keep you awake if you didn't reply.

 

"I dunno what you want me to say, get used to it? You're about as attractive as you are batshit, take it or leave it,"

 

Negan snorted - that was an acceptable answer, he supposed.

 

"And..yeah, hot enough to make....all that...just now....happen..." you yawned against his chest and attempted to bury yourself in it, consciously echoing his words from last night.

 

"Now _go the fuck to sleep,"_

 

 


	13. Fly Through My Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, this is a long one, R&R pretty please, cos this one took a while. This isn't anywhere near over btw c:

 

Oh, God. You blew the guy. You'd given him head - you exposed yourself, _and you liked it._ It was the first thought to hit you when the hangover hit you like a semi the next morning. You found yourself comfortably tangled up in a much bigger, hairer body. The curtains were thankfully, still drawn shut - and your body woke you up at dawn, despite the fact you were in no mood to go anywhere.

 

"Hey," the hoarse, tired voice of Negan's broke the silence, his hooded stare baring down on you as you had looked up at him and shuffled against his chest, gently stirring him awake. He wasn't grouchy about it, surprisingly. You thought he'd be the sort - but a lot of things about him were surprising to you. The night previous came to you in very clear chunks, and how you'd pushed against his body and pushed against his resistance. You'd instigated all of it and made the choice to blame it on the alcohol the next day, but you couldn't do that to him, you realised. With a clearer head, you just couldn't, you didn't want to write off everything you'd done, and so you didn't. Your throat felt sore a bit, and your jaw ached albeit for reasons entirely unrelated to how much you drank, you felt yourself blushing as he stared down at you in silence.

 

You stared at him for a while, blinking a little sleep out of your eyes and remembering the last thing he'd said before he passed out.

 

 _"Mornin' gorgeous,"_ you managed throatily. He raised both brows, before pulling the sheet up over you both slowly, encasing you in warmth as it had sloped down your shoulder and exposed you to the cold a little. He pushed himself against you, tightening his arm around you and feeling your resting heart rate slowly increase against his body.

 

"Gorgeous?" his tone taking on a strange skepticism about it. You nodded and felt a stabbing pain as you did so, groaning slightly and wondering how shitty Eugene must be feeling, he had less tolerance than you, but then again, he also drank less. It was just that you remembered the last thing he'd said to you, and while it was hardly racked with insecurity, it indicated that he had struggled to understand the fact you wanted to sexualise him, and do things to him. He understood that clearly, it was all you knew in regards to exchanging gratitude with power figures who do things for you in the wake of the end of the world, and did his best to resist so that he could tell you that you didn't have to, but you knew that, and then ploughed on anyway, because you wanted to. You admitted, last night - that you'd been at the very least, physically attracted, to a point of not liking to share.

 

 _"Is....is that embarrassing....to you...?"_ you grumbled, tiredly.

 

Negan, it seemed, was harder to embarrass than you thought, he worked hard to project strength, and divided his terrifyingly intense emotions into anger, excitement and ambition - it was what drove him to keep his power the way that he did. So he smiled at you, easily lumping it into his sillier side - and loving the way it sounded out of your mouth.

 

"Not at all. I was wondering when you'd give me a nickname," he teased, referencing Carl - you were too tired to put that much together though, and merely burrowed back against him, feeliing a hand in your hair.

 

"Guess you feel like shit, huh?" he continued "-so I guess getting you wasted is how we make you obey the bed rest order,"

 

 _"Shut. Up."_ you hissed at his underlying smugness, your arm was draped over his back, and you moved it down progressively, settling it at the small and sighed contentedly despite the pain. You didn't think you'd ever have a moment like this in the end of days.You were going to cherish it, even if it was with someone who was probably bad for your health - you take what you can get, and you didn't deserve any better than Negan. You really didn't. There was silence for a while and then he shifted a bit, before you felt his lips near the bridge of your nose, and you felt a tingle going down your spine as he did it - you kept your eyes shut for the moment being.

 

"Regrets?" his voice was quiet, but searching, despite how smoothly he floated the question. You merely groaned against him, feeling his lips on you - you opened your eyes, watching him pull away. He didn't seem like the terribly sweet type, but if you weren't mistaken, he kissed the bridge of your nose. Well - you mused, it's not like you hadn't done that to him before, and then did something even more intimate the night previous.

 

 _"No. It was...unexpected, and...not something I planned to do..."_ you mumbled _"-but in a moment I wanted you, so I took you,"_

 

Negan wasn't really sure how to take that, and blinked owlishly as he felt your hand sloping down his back and settling over his boxers, giving him a weak, but very, very noticable attempt at a groping. Now, at the age of forty, he was not a man who got groped often, and he could not for the life of him, recall if anyone had ever done it to him, so the last thing he expected was to feel you do it to him, and grab a handful of his arse in a sleepy, hungover daze (on purpose!).

 

_"Oh!"_

 

He flinched against you in surprise, before letting out a short chuckle.

 

"That's....new...."   he said with a grin, feeling the hand roving and squeezing with a strange, sleepy playfulness. Oh yeah, this - this was new, and he kind of liked it, as stupid as it sounded, it made him feel a little bit sexy, and that wasn't something that often came to the forefront of his mind, as the groping intensified, he couldn't help but comment. 

 

"God, you've got more arms then a fucking squid - also, appreciate I didn't make a Vishnu joke,"

 

"Wrong one, Sikh not Hindu, not that any of it really fuckin' matters now," you mumbled into him.

 

"I have still no idea what that is," Negan commented idly, playing with your hair - he didn't have to be anywhere for a while with it being this early, and that was good, because he did not want to untangle himself from your warm, lovely body.

 

"...'mind me to tell you 'bout it sometime," you yawned, smiling with your eyes closed. "I wasn't the most religious, but I'll tell you now - it prepared me for the fucking apocalypse."

 

Oh yeah, now he definitely had to bother you about it, it was an important component to everything that made you, you - and he was intent on knowing all of it, obsessed with it even. It was now, he was realising, a lot of the things he'd said and felt in the night prior, weren't meaningless just because they were said in the heat of the moment. He had several women to drop, which hey, at least Dwight would be happy - he was no fool, he saw the guy staring after Sherry like some mopey, miserable, yearning dog. You'd confessed to a mounting physical attraction for him, which was now heavily confused with self-defined hero syndrome, so your feelings for him, at best, were a mess, but you liked him. Whatever that meant. What was confusing and nauseating to think about for Negan was the depth of his own easily-confessed obsession with you, at first he just wanted to spend all the time he could with you, then he wanted to scrub off everything the bayou shitbags had done - because you were something of his that had been taken - and now, well, now he wasn't really sure what he was dealing with. Infatuation, perhaps? You were young, spry, hot and found his old ass attractive, you could deal with everything he threw at you, and importantly - you were rational. Pragmatic. Smart. Things you needed to be in the apocalypse, but you were also hardened, heavily skilled and powerful. Everything about you was powerful in a way he couldn't describe, it was powerful when he came across you - and you dominated the whole situation with Danny, clearly. Then, even staring down utter encircelment, you had been grounded and firm, like an unmovable rock.

 

Then the power showed itself physically, as you'd dragged Shax against the defunct car by his eye sockets - it was intoxicating and attractive. He'd been attracted to that power, and then he felt so strangely content with being trusted by you, when you started to show your weak parts. It occurred to him at that point that he wanted your trust, just as much as he wanted your respect.

 

"You can tell me about it some other time, you look wiped. I'll get some instant coffee down here later. Military ration stuff - y'know, the good shit," said Negan with a chuckle.

 

You sighed, forcing your eyes open.

 

"You leaving?"

 

"I have things to do," Negan reminded you gently, before delivering a very mock put-upon sigh, brushing a strand of dark hair out of your eyes. "-You've fucked up a lot of things for me,"

 

You gave him an offended look, and frowned, the cogs very tiredly working behind your eyes, enough that he chuckled at you, confusing you more.

 

"Cos all I'm going to be doing is thinking about the _amazing_ fuckin' head you gave me last night and you on top, fuckin' hell darlin', you're gonna give me an erection like a New York skyscraper while I'm gone," he sighed, making you blush darkly, groan, and promptly turn your back on him.

 

Arsehole.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When you opened the door to the Box, you were greeted with a smell that was familiar, but so nauseating you wanted to be sick in an instant. Sunlight streamed in and highlighted the small room filled with waste and piles of dirty dishes. In one corner, a slumped over man, whose hair stuck to his face in a mixture of sweat and grease, with tired eyes squinting up at you.

 

You stared at each other for a long moment in mutual silence, before you found your voice, shaking yourself of the shock of the sight. You couldn’t help but be reminded of the sad, bulbous eyes your grandmother’s bird when she had passed away, and you’d gone over with your mother, just to see the sad, dying creature, looking at you with its morose eyes, hungry, neglected and surrounded by its own waste.

 

“Hi, little bird,” your voice was gentle and as soft as you could possibly manage. The man looked up at you, a large, drooping, oversized shirt with the word “A” spraypainted on it, like a branded animal.

 

You walked into the box, with a tray of warm food, and set it down with a frown. This was unacceptable.

 

“I’m going to put you in a different box and have this one hosed down,” you said, before clearing your throat. You weren’t going to make this poor bastard any promise you couldn’t fulfil, but you could do a damn sight better than this. 

 

“You’re going to get let out regularly and fed consistently. I don’t know what else I can do – but I’ll see. I’ll also see about getting some of your people here – to see you. If you wanted that,”

 

He was quiet, and then simply shook his head.

 

“No,” his voice deep, like gravel.

 

“Who’re you?” he was struck by your gentleness, your demeanour, your accent – all of it, he was sure he’d never seen you before. Then again, Daryl mused – he didn’t see much of anything.

 

“Right now? Consider me your best friend,” you glanced out of the box, seeing the patrol about to change, which, while you had permission to be here, was your signal to leave. You left him before he could reply, walking back out into the light and almost choking on the freshness of the air that greeted you.

 

Fucking hell.

 

The whole thing was a mess - and you had to go back to bed, you realised, before Negan came back and started wondering where you were and questioning why you went to see Daryl. Now, you were not the least bit scared of being caught, but it was stressful jusitfying things to him sometimes, everything was a bartering game. A negotiation of power, even - and very often, you two butted heads, but the best way to win, was through logically hashing it out - even if it meant pissing him off, or forcing him to make the wrong choice before he could see the right one for what it was. You only had a vague idea on how to spin this, but, maybe - just maybe, it'd be a true test of whatever it was that he felt about you.

 

How much did what he care about what thought about him, mean in comparison to his need to carelessly flaunt his power? Because that's what this was, it was a power-play right from the inception, you'd received a play-by-play from Rick and it sounded about right to you. How long did a human being have to suffer for the sake of a power-play? This was one of those choices that teetered on the edge of irrationality when you considered just how long he'd been kept in the Box, and now you had Eugene, with Rick and Carl staying on the Compound - so having that man suffering in there was almost pointless. No. It _was_ pointless, and you despised pointless cruelty, and needless death. He just looked so sad, sadder than even a dying animal - in your eyes, hence the name, that and it seemed like an endless amount of time in the hole during a prison stretch, which funnily enough, was called doing your bird. A phrase which meant either something sexy, or something very grim, dependant on context, back in England. Unfortunately for Daryl, it seemed to be the latter.

 

You saw the trucks coming in through the Compound first and narrowed your eyes, before beginning to walk over with purpose, ignoring the aching sensation which had returned.

 

It was Rick who came out first, but you noticed Dwight - who had been left in favour of Simon, cutting across the camp, running to find Negan first. You frowned, but turned to the worn out man, and noticed that he hadn't come back with Carl and Michonne, so they were probably still gone. He was standing besides Negan who came out last, before his expression darkened, and he caught your eye - before heading towards you after saying something to him.

 

You looked up at him curiously as he slid into your path, going as far as to strafe to the left to stay in front of you, as though blocking you from Negan.

 

"I don't think that's a good idea right now, he has somethings to deal with," said Rick gently.

 

Now, you liked Rick, you really did, but you didn't appreciate being buffered like that after you'd gotten closer to Negan than you ever possibly thought you would. You looked up at him searchingly, and instead of asking him why, boldly brushed past him, gently pushing him to one side with an assertive swing of your hips, maintaining all of the feminine dignity you had and striding over. The way you moved, you wouldn't know that you were still in pain. He tried to make after you - putting a hand on your shoulder and trying to stop you, briefly.

 

"I really don't think you should,"

 

You frowned - remembering his offer to take you into his group if it all ever went south - maybe that already made you one of his people in his mind, that he thought he could order around, even if it came from a good place, you were very swift in jerking out from under his hand and giving him a flat expression.

 

"I appreciate this...concern, if this is what that is, but I very rarely let men tell me what I can and can't do. I need to talk to Negan," you said, more authoritatively than you ever heard your own voice sound - you were, after all, _Shegan_. It was enough to keep the man in place, staring after you with an expression drawn into a mixture of both sadness and concern that you weren't used to having directed at you - and it seemed odder coming from Rick.

 

The two men turned to you as you came into their view, and you noticed Dwight adorn a similar expression to Rick, albeit slightly less obviously, and immediately, the concerns you had about Daryl died on your tongue.

 

"This is bed rest, huh?" said Negan impatiently, you turned to him, lips drawn into a thin line - pressing your hands flat to his chest. It was a habit that you seemed to be developing, exerting the fact that he allowed you so casually inside of his personal space, in front of the people that he ruled with an iron fist. The words 'we need to talk' - the most ominous words to ever leave a woman's lips that most men never wanted to hear, died on your tongue. You wanted to know what was going on, and didn't appreciate being left out of the loop.

 

"Why did you send him over to stop me talking to you? What's happened? I _have_ been in bed most the day, so, what's going on?"

 

When Negan didn't answer, having just heard himself, you turned to Dwight, who just looked uncomfortable, and was glancing between the pair of you as though struggling to determine what the correct thing to do was.

 

"There's been an incident Ma'am,"

 

You frowned, and looked at Negan, pushing your hands against him and gliding into his personal space, almost body to body - it was noticable now, to everyone, that what had been background static between you two was now an absolutely electric atmosphere, that emanated from the severity of your stare and then how personal you were with each other no longer seeming one-sided.

 

"What did you need?" said Negan, changing the subject "-there's a reason you waited for me out here or did you just miss me that damn much?"

 

"We need to talk, but it can wait, don't change the subject, what's going on?" you said, patience wearing thinner - and Negan, being Negan, and not one to beat around the bush, was devastatingly blunt.

 

"Apparently, while I was gone, there was a rape in the ranks. Dwight apparently knocked the guy out and he's - where?"

 

"Carson," said Dwight shortly.

 

"And that's gonna need to be dealt with, and made an example of," said Negan with a scowl "- _really_ not what I wanted on my plate today. I thought the groups integrating a bit might cause problems, but this shit? Fuckin' really?"

 

Now it made sense, the whole thing probably felt like a forbidden subject in your presence, or at least, an awkward one. He noticed how a dark cloud had come over you and he wanted to make a point to you that this sort of thing wasn't something that happened in his empire and especially not in his goddamn Compound. Ever. It was his chance to prove to you that he could protect you despite the fact you had been taken straight out from under him back in Alexandria.

 

"....Darlin'?" there was actually a trace of worry and concern in his tone, and it wasn't something Dwight heard often, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced between the pair of you.

 

You realised you'd been quiet for a while, just pressed against him after he told you what happened, and suddenly, you came to a conclusion that he did not expect from you at all.

 

"I'm going to take care of it," you said, effectively taking authority from him - it was enough to make him scowl, but curiosity overcame him. He glanced down at you, Lucille swung over his left shoulder and leaning on his backfoot casually, as though you weren't discussing something horrific. "No, listen to me, hear me out,"

 

Negan had come to associate that phrase with the cold, steely logic that you often faught him tooth and nail with, and let out a deep, impatient sigh.

 

"Everyone knows what happened to me and what I did to Shax, and it's going about like Chinese Whispers, things keep changing, and I don't feel obligated to set anyone's record straight. But, people are now under the impression that I'm relying on you to hold myself together, but I've been holding myself together just fine for four years. They also come to me before they go to you - to ask for shit, right?"

 

Negan was quiet, and slowly raised an eyebrow, wondering where you were going with this.

 

"They do that because they think I'm the nice one, the good one - and when you're gone, despite me being here, something like this still happened," a hint of bitterness in your tone, because in a strange way - you did feel responsible, even more so than Simon and Dwight did, because you were - well, you were the boss's girl, when the King goes away, the Queen's supposed to step in, right? And all you'd done is stay and lick your wounds all day save for when you visited Daryl.

 

"I don't want that to happen anymore, they need to know the consequences of what they've done and that just because you aren't at the Compound, doesn't mean they can get away with murder," you sucked in a sharp breath "-People need to learn that they can't treat women however the hell they want just because we're back to tribal rules," you said waspishly.

 

"What're you proposing?" said Negan, now definitely curious and a little bit excited by your sudden desire to exert more control than simply going over to him to pander for other people's cases. Yes, he thought, he liked this side of you a lot more.

 

"He's with Carson, right?" your eyes narrowed, Dwight nodded beside him, and you licked your lower lip - that haze threatening to come over you once more - though perhaps to not as a severe extent as when you'd been pushed past a physical point of endurance, it still lit a fire inside of you, igniting the embers.

 

"Do whatever you need to do, maybe assemble the community at the gate if it won't stop production too much. Don't worry, this won't take long,"

 

You pushed yourself off of him, turning your heel and striding away with just as much purpose as when you'd come in.

 

 _'Damn,'_ Negan thought with a curious little smile to himself. _'_ _Now that's a woman.'_

 

* * *

 

 

Carson wrung his hands outside of his office, feeling an uncomfortable series of lurches in his stomach. He could look through the keyhole, or open the door, but he decides - rather wisely - that he has no stomach for whatever is occurring behind the door in his work station. There was a certain quietness that fell over the corridor that he stood in, watching Negan and Rick slowly come up, he could only give them a hapless sort of look. He didn't know what else to do, except stand there and wait for it to be over. They had left to assemble the camp, and he had been summoned too, but he couldn't help but stand outside of his door with an indescribable expression of worry from having been ordered out by a bossy young woman, hearing the door lock behind him.

 

He didn't hear anything, until he heard his newly acquired music player very softly playing one of the few available CDs he had to hand that he actually liked. In any other scenario, he'd have been happy to hear anything from _It Might As Well Be Swing,_ it had been decades since he'd listened to any Sinatra, after all, but this just made him uncomfortable as he heard the noise softly oozing out from under the door, and what he could only describe as clinking sounds.

 

 - _Fly me to the moon, let me play among at the stars -_

 

"You too, Doc," said Negan.

 

\- _Let me see what spring is like from, Jupiter or Mars -_

 

He looked at Negan, before worriedly glancing at the door, the soft honey sounds of Sinatra breaking the tension until the metal noise was loud - like something incredibly heavy had dropped, and a loud, muffled noise, that could only be described as a muffled groan.

 

"She's locked me out - she's in with the patient Dwight brought in, what - what is going on?" asked the doctor nervously.

 

Negan just shrugged one shoulder, before clapping a hand heavily on Carson's back, making him flinch so hard that he wondered how he didn't shed his skin clean on the spot.

 

"Hell if I know, we're running on the young lady's agenda today," he said with a grin - and simply walked the man out, hearing the muffled noise get louder, and then the loud swinging music to simply match it. He was naturally, burningly curious, but if you locked the door, than clearly, you'd done it for a reason. He looked over at Rick, who was standing outside the door - and saw him reaching for the handle, and jiggling it fruitlessly with a scowl on his face.

 

"You too, c'mon, shake-a-leg!" he said authoritatively, forcing Rick's attention away.

 

He didn't know what you had in store, but he was sure it was going to rock his world - you always managed to. God, he still couldn't stop thinking about last night, and the mess of feelings accrued with it, and hell if he knew what kinds of things the women who'd redispersed into the camp, some of them had to be annoyed with the fact they had to go back out into that terrifying world or simply get out of the Compound, and none were ready to do that. He knew he would have to make some sort of public show, not necessarily an announcement, as technically it wasn't anyone's business - but being Negan was more than keeping the camp running. He had an image to maintain too, so he could maintain the symbolism of _being Negan_ for everyone else, and in truth, the harem was as much a symbol of male virility and masculine strength. It showed a level of male exertion that was respected in the camp, and now that was gone, he needed to slide you into place as his partner, whether you fully embraced it or not. Internally, he didn't really know how to address where your relationship with him had gone, you were his advisor, and to an extent, an intellectual adversary. Now, you were someone who was his - you were his girl - now his only girl, who he felt a need to protect and not share with anybody else, which was just how he treated his wives except... Well, you had power when they didn't, and you could and would resist him at every turn if you felt the need and you did not back down. It was like an unstoppable force meeting an unmovable object.

 

You were his equal, he realised - and that was why he was on such tumultous ground. It had been many years since he had anything close to that - and with a strange, sinking feeling, as he glanced at Lucille - the bat he swung jauntily at his side, the namesake of his beloved weapon hadn't been much of an equal either. A submissive, classical woman who he relied upon to have dinner done when he came home, to be warm when he wanted to fuck, to listen to him when he had problems, and to cook for his friends during the Superbowl. She had been a good woman, far better than Negan had deserved - and he'd loved her, but fuck, did he hardly show it.

 

Then there was you. You were just....nauseatingly entrancing, it was the feeling he had when he first caught sight of Lucille across the the bar, except the electricity was constant and powerful, the feeling never dissipated. It was uncontrollable too, he'd been in control the whole time with his wife, but with you - it was all up for grabs. Everything just tossed into the air - chaotic and unsure and terribly hot. He never would have met you, he mused, if your family hadn't been shitty, if your life situation hadn't led you overseas and if the world didn't end just quick enough for you to be trapped in America.

 

In a strange way, the end of the world might have been the best thing to ever happen for Negan. He walked across the line of Saviors who were all standing in a thick crowd facing the gates, swinging Lucille with a jump in his step. You wouldn't even know his emotions were in a state of turmoil, just looking at him.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, clearing his throat, stopping dead centre, and smiling at the crowd, instantly setting a tone of nervousness that was barely stifled, the Saviors - with some of Rick's lot scattered among them, a sea of stony faces staring out back at him.

 

"As it so fuckin' happens, this bright, sunny mornin' - I came back with the collection team to find somethin' that just...." he sighed "-really fucked me off, y'know? Really boiled my fuckin' brisket,"

 

He lifted up Lucille and placed it lazily over his left shoulder, a sort of dangerous glitter in his eyes. His smile was deceptively casual, and by now the Saviors knew that if Negan was smiling in this manner, it did not spell good news for anybody involved.

 

"What is the one rule, that I have set out, from day fuckin' one in this camp?" it was a rhetorical question, but the deafening silence had sent a wave of fear in the crowd, because Negan was clearly looking for a specific answer and if they didn't say the right one, someone was in trouble, and if nobody answered his rhetorical question - well, that was anyone's guess.

 

When Negan answered his own question, there was a fleeting, palpable relief from the clueless crowd.

 

"Weee - do not - fucking - _rape -_ here. I am trying to build a **_SOCIETY_** for you ungrateful assholes, and if that doesn't sit well with you, and you'd rather go stick your dick in somethin' whether it says yes or no, then kindly do me a favour and blow your fucking brains out somewhere where the blood is easy to clean out," he said, his tone was deceptively sweet, but his words absolutely were not. There was a devastating silence, some people were glancing at each other - clearly a whisper of what had happened must have gotten out, but many were clueless, and there were flinches and curious, confused scowls circulating through the crowd.

 

"Now, now, now - knowin' how I feel personally about this....disgusting, grubby little injustice, y'all should know better!" he chuckled jauntily, before it dropped very suddenly, like the penny had simply dropped.  "But you know whose feelings you probably - no - _definitely_ should consider?"

 

"My lovely, smart, _sexy_ little advisor - " he added the words as he saw you coming out of the building to the left of the crowd, making a few people's heads turn from the gravity of the door swinging open, the bang piercing the silent atmosphere that only Negan's booming tones could bring. His eyes almost widened - had he not schooled his expression to be unreadable or at the very least, cheerful and expecting, as though he knew exactly what you planned to do. Truthfully, he did not, but he wasn't about to project that to eighty Saviors.

 

"Now, if you think you guys pissed _me_ off," he let out a deep, appreciative whistle, realising you were dragging a figure behind you limply, sliding their entire body across the asphalt as you dragged them by the hand, silently making your way through the people, who were dipping and moving to get out of your way as you gracelessly tugged a dishelved, silent man behind you by the arm, his head slumped downwards and hidden underneath a mess of tawny hair. "You guys _really_ have no idea how mad she is," he chuckled.

 

"Baby!" he said cheerfully, "-I got the party started,"

 

You grunted, and pulled out the boys who stayed in your original homes first - Aaron and Diesel - they were quiet and confused, but they followed your order as though it had come from Negan himself. Aaron took the man by his left arm, and Diesel had taken his right, dragging him behind you as you strode towards where Negan was - and silently pointed to the centre of the area so as many people could see as possible. Negan watched with a burning curiosity - even more so when you demanded that Aaron keep the man held up and his arms taut across away from him - pulled left and right with firm force.

 

"Stand strong, he'll struggle," was the first thing you said - and Negan didn't recognise the tone you used at all - it was strange and foreign, like it wasn't even really you. It took him a moment, but he realised, with an odd, delicious excitement boiling his gut - that he was looking at the same woman he had seen when you had limped out of Dwight's truck and had used Shax's head like an eraser.

 

_Oh, yes. This was gonna be good._

 

You were not happy with what you had to do - but you were even less happy with what this man had done, and you knew what had to be done. You kept your back to the people - this wasn't just a show for them, you making an example, this didn't excite you the way it excited Negan. To you, this was a necessary evil, at least, at first. The man had soft oval features, brown hair and unassuming, amber eyes, he looked perhaps like he'd be a gentle man, if you didn't know what he'd done. He wore a muddy tweed jacket tucked into ripped pants and had a knife strapped to his side. Negan realised, with an internal cringe, that the man's pants were such a thick and heavy burgundy that they'd been utterly soaked through with blood from waist to knees almost - he almost didn't want to know whatever you'd done to his crotch, because clearly, he mused, you must have done _something._

 

He expected you to be harsh - to be screaming in his face, after what happened to you, he wouldn't be surprised if you had a mental break and took it out on the man on behalf of the female Savior who'd been raped.

 

Instead, your tone was gentle, and quiet - but carried out through the raw silence of the crowd.

 

"Tell me what your name is," he watched as you pulled his knife from his belt and picked a nail with it, admiring its sharpness and holding it up briefly under the light of the sun, giving it a full critical look and even a few playful swings, as though you'd just brought it from a store.

 

The man was trembling from the knees down - and when he raised his head, everybody could see his face. The eyes were so bloodshot that they hurt to look at, and there was a thick trail of snot from his left nostril down to his upper lip, and his knees practically knocked together from sheer agony alone, it was a wonder that he hadn't passed out, Negan mused.

 

"C-C-Clay," he mumbled, as you gently needled him for it in full, scoffing in disbelief. "C-C-Clarence T-Thomas E-Elliot,"

 

You stood there, and just snorted loudly. Clarence Thomas Elliot. Even his name made him sound like a cunt.

 

"Clarence. Thomas. Elliot," you gave him a sideways glance and sneered as you sounded out his name, flicking the knife idly - this scumbag, sitting here, acting like you were the big bad wolf as though he hadn't done something unforgivable and horrible that he couldn't possibly take back, having the nerve to ask for mercy in Dr Carson's office. You looked up at his buttoned up tweed, and circled back in front of him, blocking view of his torso for some of the crowd, though it was fairly obvious what was happening, bits of plastic flying out to the left and right - buttons, Eugene realised, who was a little too close for his own comfort.

 

"Clarence," you flicked off a button with your knife, steadily undressing him in front of the people, exposing more of his pale, hairless chest.  "Thomas," flick. 

 

"Elliot," flick. The shirt was open now, and you tore it open in a sudden and dramatic fashion, making him shiver and cringe.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, 'm sorry, I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry--" he mumbled a lot - it was only now that, save for when you asked his name, he'd been shuddering those words out the entire time - but all you could hear was the static of your own mind and then -

 

\- _GOTTA WARM YOU UP FOR CHUCK -_

 

And all reserve went out of the window.

 

"I would like you to answer some things for me, and these nice people that have taken time out of their day to be here," you said, your tone no longer gentle, but taking a deadliness that made Negan's heart skip several beats as he looked, unable to blink, much like the rest of his men.

 

"Would you, knowing who I am, try to bend me over, and fuck me?"

 

The man choked, giving you a wild-eyed look and glancing at Negan in a mixture of pointless desperation - as though that man would save you - confusion and utter terror - a look that he was only half used to, it wasn't often people looked at him to step in as a lesser evil and somehow stop something bad from happening. Negan actually chuckled, eyes glittering with glee as he watched.

 

"NO!" the man balked, screaming - as though he was desperate for Negan to hear him.  "-Nonononono, I would never! You're Negan's girl - I don't touch his girls - I would never - "

 

He was silenced by perhaps the most impressive slap he'd ever seen a woman give, he was sure the man would be hearing ringing, his white face even had a massive red splotch where your hand made contact with his flesh, and if not for Aaron and Diesel holding him out the way they were, he would have fallen to the floor.

 

"-and what about, _my girls, hm?"_

 

Now this was something nobody expected. You turned away from him, glancing at the sea of faces, some of them were Negan's ex-wives, some of them were women you didn't know, some were wide-eyed men, you glanced mostly at the women, gliding your stare past the males with ease.

 

"You see, while I'm here - and I'm standing next to Negan - all these people here? All these people in this Compound? Fuck, all the people in this empire - the Kingdom, Alexandria, Hilltop, you fucking name it - _all of these girls, are **my** girls. _ When you take one of them, and you hurt them - you _rape them_ with your disgusting, grubby, greedy little hands and your little needle cock, you as good as did it to me. Right here, right now, I'm about to take responsibility for every woman here, because this happened while our dear Negan was gone - and _y_ _ou thought that it was alright to do,_ because the boss wasn't there," you snarled.

 

Oh, fuck. The authority, the angry, lashing, devastating British baritone just gave him goosebumps under his leather jacket and Negan was certain he wasn't the only one who had yet to blink for a damn second.

 

"Well whether Negan is here or not, when you hurt them, you hurt me - and would you like to know what happens to people that hurt me?" he watched as you pivoted to turn back to him, and then bent down ever so slightly to look down at the man who was completely held up by Aaron and Diesel, not even standing anywhere close to full height.

 

"Would you like to be like the last man who did something like that to me?" there was almost a purr to your tone that he couldn't place, and clearly, Clarence had heard the story or some rendition of it, and he started struggling like hell, forcing Aaron and Diesel to hold him like a vice as he trembled, the terror now fully setting in on him.

 

"NO! No - no, please don't - please don't - I want to live - I want to - oh God I'm sorry, I'll do anything, I'll do anything you want, I'm sorry -"

 

\- _BUT FIRST, YOU HAVE TO MAKE ME HAPPY -_

 

If you were mentally present, and not stuck in your own rage and turmoil, perhaps his words might have reached you, but they didn't. God. They had no chance. His bloodshot eyes followed you as you flicked the knife against your finger deeply and drew a fair amount of blood. The confusion rippled through the Saviors, and even Negan wasn't sure what was happening - not for the first few seconds anyway, watching you trace your fingers over the man's trembling, exposed chest, drawing your blood out in a strangely intimate manner.

 

The quote hit him like a brick, making his mouth fall open inelegantly for a second - which, thankfully, nobody saw.

 

' _That's a lot of what the Bayou was about - ritualistic order, sacrificing  - '_ Shit, Negan wondered - was this...? Was that what this was...? He could only watch in fascinated, mute curiosity as much as any other Savior in the crowd.

 

"Maybe you did it because Negan was gone, and it was a crime of opportunity. Maybe you thought you could get away with it, if it's just me here. Maybe...." your fingers were delicate, spreading smooth trails of blood at some small expense to yourself, drawing gently yet perfectly on his flesh, perfect utter symmetry as the man whimpered in confusion, shuddering under your touch and feeling the strange and almost mystic air rising solely through your mysterious, enchanting, ritualistic actions.

 

Oh yes, this looked ritualistic, like something straight out of a New Orleans voodoo textbook - a smooth circle around a specific area of his chest, like you were blueprinting his body to find a very exact, and precise location.

 

"Maybe you did it because you thought that I was the nice one, the good cop. Maybe you thought nobody was worse than him,"

 

And then there was silence, followed by a scream. Nobody could see what you were doing unless they had a good angle, your body covering him as you stood in front - it was Aaron and Diesel who by far had the best view, followed by Eugene and Negan, then Rick - but most of the centre Saviors saw the steady drips of blood oozing down to the floor if they weren't soaked up by already bloody pants - something which hadn't gone amiss when Clarence had been initially dragged out.

 

"Stop screaming!" you snarled - making him chew on his tongue as he looked at you with pleading eyes, muffling his own noises of agony into groans that shook his entire body and may as well have been the screams he had made prior. You closed your eyes, and pressed your fingers against his chest where you had made the deep, precise indentations that followed the point you had accurately blueprinted onto his body. If you were doing this - you had to do it right, in the way Evelyn had taught you to - to find the right spot. Even if it meant rituallistically drawing lines across his torso to find where that perfect crosspoint was. Your fingers pushed gently against the source of the blood pouring down his torso - deep into meaningful cuts that had been made into his chest.

 

He looked into your usually kind, dark eyes, and saw an absence of anything. Where you would usually feel revulsion, it took a backseat for a bottomless vacuum of anger.

 

\- _It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, please, can we wait Major? I need to... please - do it somewhere else on me, thank you - God, thank you Major - it was really hurting me -_

 

You plunged your fingers in as far as they could go - the man tipped his head back, and proceeded to scream bloody murder, Aaron quickly turned his head, visually balking. You felt yourself pushing against blood and vessels - then bone, as it was hard and made your fingers struggle, forcing you to wiggle and push them apart.

 

Oh, it had been a while since you'd done this. You swallowed thickly, pushing at his ribcage until you felt your had between two disgustingly soft things - and in a perfect movement, you wrapped around the throbbing sensation, feeling it between your fingers with veins between your fingers like cords through a machine, desperately pumping away, giving you all of his feelings of terror firmly in your hands, after you essentially - ritualistically - caved his chest open.

 

Then put your hand in.

 

You closed your eyes again, before squeezing slightly, making him shriek, and then gently moving your hand ever so slightly, maybe a millimetre, but enough to make him almost pass out.

 

_"Do you like it?"_

 

Your voice was loud, snarling, screaming in his face so it would carry out over his screams and echo through the camp.

 

" _Or didn't I get you hot enough?"_

 

Negan felt his eyebrow raise at your wording, only for his heart to jump several more beats as it became apparent this was an extremely personal kind of revenge that you had no issue showing to the the camp on the whole.

 

" _What's the matter, Clarence Thomas Elliot? Don't you like me inside you?"_

 

The disgust erupted from you like a fountain and almost drove a shiver down his spine, it did manage to drive one down a fair few people's though - even, oddly enough, the often unmovable, unshakeable Rick Grimes, he noted, with some misplaced, irrational glee.

 

" _ **DON'T YOU LIKE FEELING SOMETHING INSIDE YOU WHERE IT DOESN'T FUCKING BELONG? DON'T YOU LIKE IT CLARENCE? DON'T YOU FUCKING LIKE IT? WHAT'S THE MATTER? DOES IT HURT? AM  I HURTING POOR LITTLE CLAY?"**_

 

And then there was nothing - but the bloodcurdling scream that was making Aaron and Diesel's ears absolutely ring - yours too, but you were too blinded by anger - finally registering at least one word out of what Clarence had said - and quite simply, he had screamed at you to stop.

 

_How many times had the word 'stop' never meant a fucking thing? Stop drinking so much dad, you're embarrassing me. Stop shouting so much dad, you'll keep me up for school. Stop throwing stuff at me, what did I do to you? Stop touching me Evelyn, I didn't mean to. Stop it Chuck, it hurts! Stop, stop, stop, stop!_

 

Negan only felt the shiver hit him when he realised just how far gone you were, when your own voice was able to surpass even the bloodcurdling screams of Clarence.

 

" **NO! YOU _SUFFER!"_** you screeched, feeling your throat almost tear from the force from which you screamed back in retaliation. **"SINCE WHEN HAS 'STOP' EVER MEANT A FUCKING THING TO PEOPLE LIKE YOU?"**

 

You twisted your wrist, noticably - making Rick wince.

 

" _ **WHY SHOULD I?"**_

 

Twist counter-clockwise, slowly cutting off veins with your fingers as you did.

 

" _ **DID YOU? NO. I DON'T FUCKING THINK SO. YOU PEOPLE NEVER DO."**_

 

It was frighteningly immediate, the scream didn't fade out it just plain stopped, like someone putting the needle down on a vinyl and sending it all to a screeching, immediate halt. All the music stopped. Everything stopped, your entire tiny body jerked, pulling back your arm, and you backed out, turning back to the crowd, exposing the man utterly, whose chest had been caved open in a frighteningly perfect, circular manner, and showed a gushing amount of blood from a completely empty area, where there was once a beating heart.

 

Many pairs of eyes had fallen on you - your arm specifically, which was raised high in the air, with blood coursing down your hand and down your arms - holding a deep, dark coloured thing between your fingers, that once beated inside of Clarence's chest - it was, Eugene mused darkly, a lot darker coloured than he expected it to be, but the man quickly turned away, unable to stare at it too long without wanting to be sick.

 

You felt rationality hit you like a brick as you saw the sea of either stony or horrified faces - and Eugene flat out turn away. Rick - he couldn't blink, he was just open mouthed - his eyes locking with yours, watching you drop the organ in your hand on the floor with a sinful amount of carelessness for what was such a physically and spiritually important organ. You just dropped his heart. Like it was worthless.

 

You realised you were breathing quite heavily, feeling the adrenaline kick back and give you to the dizzying present - stubbornly, you raised your chin high, ignoring the churning of emotions in your gut.

 

"If you think I'm going to keep the nice girl gloves on when something like this happens under my nose than you are all sorely mistaken," you said softly, unable to shout after you had just screamed so loudly.

 

You turned to Negan, expecting to see the same expression as Rick - but could only feel a sense of relief, as you saw the smirk that adorned his features, and the deep, bottomless look of desire glittering in his eyes - and a lack of horror.

 

"Most of the time, I am a reasonable and sensible woman, I like to think, but when it comes to this," you gestured at the dead figure being held limply by Aaron and Diesel.  "-You had better hope that the person who finds you first, is that man over there," you then gestured to Negan.

 

"Because I am the last person you'll want to see leaning over you - the consequences you'll face from me, for this kind of crime - you won't come back from," you swallowed thickly, feeling a bunch of things push themselves to the forefront of your mind - you blinked and pushed the memories aside, holding the crowd's attention with a powerful kind of showmanship that Negan found positively magical, but not in a wonderful, innocent kind of way, but a dark, and mystical blood, breath, hair, bone and nails _-_ dark, and magical kind of way. It was curious and bizarre, freakish and ritualistic - powerful and _sexy -_ Negan sighed.

 

"What I've done here today, is the tip of the iceberg. You don't want to know how far this rabbithole goes - if you could..." you gave a shuddering breath, and suddenly, despite it being an eighty Savior-strong crowd, it felt like you were looking into the souls of everyone present and speaking directly to them.

 

"If you could know and see the kind of things that I participated in, in New Orleans, none of you would dare to make the mistake that Clarence has made tonight. God help any of you if I hear something like this happened again, no amount of begging Negan, running from me, or praying to your dead Gods will save you, I will make it my _business_ to find you, and deal with you accordingly,"

 

And God, fuck, Negan thought he fell in love right then and there so hard that he's knees hurt. Fucking. Fuck. Fucking HELL - you were - really something else. Really, something else. The crowd looked at the sad, squished little organ on the floor, and then, just then, the dead body that Aaron and Diesel held began to groan, lurching Clarence's head forward. He'd turned - because his head was intact - and in a moment that was too quick to see, you had spun back around and driven the knife into his temple with practiced speed, in fact, Negan had blinked, and missed some of it - only seeing you pull it out and making the boys drop the body on the floor like it was a spare brick.

 

You just couldn't stand people like Clarence, not after the place you'd come from. If you were going to be disgusted with yourself, the feeling would hit later, you made use of what you had learned back in Louisiana, and you showed these people that, just because you weren't Negan, it didn't mean your authority was to be messed with.

 

Just because you were the nice one, didn't mean people could just take from you anymore. Especially not your girls. Never again.

 

"Well," said Negan clearing his throat, stepping into the fray to stand beside you, giving the crowd a bright beaming smile after carelessly kicking Clarence's arm out of the path of his foot so he could take his place beside you.

 

"I hope this has been a fuckin' educational experience for all of you, a handy little service announcement for what the fuck happens when you break one of my cardinal goddamn rules. You assholes and us? We gotta work together on this, so society," he pointed Lucille at Clarence's dead body "-doesnt wind up looking like that dickhead,"

 

"So, look alive people, and get back to work!" he said cheerfully - making the Saviors shuffle around awkwardly, many clearly rooted in place, just staring at them after the horror of what had publically taken place had finally set in. It was now that Negan's arm wrapped around your waist, snapping you out of your violent daze with the feeling of something hot and wet against your lips. You flinched and then felt your knees buckling, your own heart still racing from what you'd done.

 

 _"Mmmng Nngggn!"_ you squeaked in surprise, feeling his facial hair brushing your face suddenly, stealing the breathe out of your lungs in one swoop.

 

Your right hand dropped Clarence's knife carelessly onto his body, and your bloody arm wrapped around Negan's torso almost automatically, your mind an absolute mess of adrenaline and intense personal satisfaction - a strange kind of euphoria sealed with a very sudden, and slightly aggressive action. You looked up at him, feeling him raise your body to tip-toes and almost raising you off the ground utterly so he could kiss you in a manner that was so familiar that it looked like he'd been doing it for years.

 

You felt tens of eyes on you - but mostly you were surprised at the lack of abject disgust - instead - it was like you had excited the man. Not quite aroused him, but definitely set his passions alight for reasons you didn't understand. It wasn't something Negan really thought about, but it appeared he seemed to really have a thing for powerful women, or maybe, he mused - just you. If this horror is what you needed to do to feel like you had control, he could allow for it, especially knowing in intimate detail how Shax had hurt you, and how long you'd been abused for. He could allow for this quite easily, he mused.

 

But right now - now that you had asserted authority over the Saviors, he had to reassert his own place in the hierarchy - it was a power move really, crashing his lips onto yours in an over-dominant way, as if to say if you were the boss, that made Negan _God,_ simple as that. A bigger part of him however, was doing it simply because he wanted to - because he'd never been so attracted to someone as he'd been when you'd held Clarence's heart high above your head, and spoke to his Saviors like they were utterly under your spell. He wasn't one to be excited by gore, he took part in it, enjoyed it even, but it didn't get him hot, you exerting your newfound power though - that had been extremely hot to him. So fucking hot he could hardly stand it.

 

You made a surprised moan against his mouth and shakily put your other arm around his neck, feeling him move Lucille behind you so he could kiss you harder, properly.

 

 _'Oh - God - why is this happening - after I just--?'_ your heart pounded in confusion and excitement, high off of the emotions that came utterly from anger driven ultraviolence, something that you reserved solely for when thee situation called for it. This, apparently, had been enough. You narrowly remembered and saw from your peripherals that there were still some crowd members just gawking and very slow to shuffle back to work. You felt some strange embarrassment come up over you, whimpering against Negan's mouth in a way that made him want to shiver for all the right reasons. He was making your knees tremble, but it was the worst timing.

 

 _'He wants to show he's the centre of control and you're just an extension, that he owns you,'_ your brain reminded you - making you relax - _'God, if he kisses this good he can do it in front of a live studio audience for all I care...'_

 

"Mmn, well done," Negan breathed, pulling away smugly as he saw how flushed and dark your expression had gone, effectively scrubbing away the feeling of horror that was going to hit you about your own actions. "You don't ever fuckin' stop surprising me I swear,"

 

You glanced at Clarence's body with an indescribable expression, which he caught.

 

"I don't want to have to do that ever again," you said quietly. You felt your own head hurt - you'd perhaps gotten too into that moment than you should have, your own heart hurt from how much it had pounded against your ribcage, and clearly, you were a bit more shaken than perhaps you were letting on. It was at this point, Negan was reminded that you had coping mechanisms that were entirely made up of a fucked up childhood and in many ways, you were not as mature as him, and could fall into your feelings hard and fast.

 

Fuck. He almost felt like a dirty old man again when he thought about it like that - but then he looked down at you, seeing your eyes prickled with unshed tears but glistening with lust, looking up at him - before flinching, and feeling a clammy, bloody hand down his spine - that had settled on his backside, just like it had done in bed, only it was probably going to leave a noticable, and embarrassing, hand-shaped print right on his ass.

 

He looked down and realised this was probably your retaliation for the obvious power-play, but clearly, you weren't angry. One look told Negan you were absolutely taken with the kiss he'd given to you, and it wasn't even particularly aggressive - as his kisses could get, anyway - not that you knew it. It was just needy, and possessive, just enough to show everyone who your authority bowed to - because he was not particularly forward with the idea of sharing the kind of things he wanted to do to you behind closed doors.

 

Not that he cared if someone was to walk in on it, but some things he liked to keep at least a little private if he could. That privacy was something human - not like the feral cruelty you'd been exposed to, where they made you think nothing of your nakedness, and abused you endlessly.

 

"And after today, you won't. Anyone who would after that, would be a fool to. And if you want, I will deal with it, but you seemed like you had it all under control," he murmured appreciatively. "They messed with the wrong woman today, he didn't know it, but now he does. And now they do too,"

 

You shivered at his tone, because it was strangely lustful - heady in a way you didn't expect, that reminded you of exactly the moment that he asked you kiss the hell out of him.

 

"Now you said some ominous shit about needin' to talk? Shit, woman. After that performance I'd be a fool not to listen to what you gotta say. C'mon, lets get inside," he said, placing his hand on the small of your back, and guiding you away from the man and through the straggling Saviors, who were struggling to absorb what they had just seen from the one that they had associated as the more reasonable of the duo - with a fairly obvious handprint on his backside as he turned his back to the group.

 

* * *

 

 

Negan really wanted to say something about some of the diatribe you'd let loose on Clarence earlier, and the ritualistic nature of what you'd done to him, but he knew that with you - it would be a slow burn. Demanding answers out of you did very little to endear you to him and you were as resistant as they came, he wanted to sit there and listen about all four years from start to finish if he could manage it without the rage rising inside of him like it had when he pictured Shax's hands leaving the bruising on your thighs.

 

He sat you downstairs in his home, sinking deeply into the leather chair you used to sit in when you two had dinner - and when you'd had your first psychotic break. Only, this time, he didn't sit opposite you, he sat beside you, blinking in surprise as you naturally fell into him, leaning against his leather clad jacket. It seemed that once that filter had been taken away, you were very brazen with touch and seemed to be in desperate need of physical affection because it was all you knew. But, in ways that didn't require you getting hurt, or result in it.

 

"Mn, you take your liberties, don't you?" Negan remarked. "Don't get me wrong, I dug how you took charge out there. Like - shit, like how I would,"

 

"Well," he added "-with your own definite spin on it, I wouldn't have done all that shit, something equally bad, but uh, not quite what you did, sweetheart,"

 

You grimaced, closing your eyes and sighing deeply against him - suddenly Daryl in The Box seemed practically fucking minor, if not for you remembering his crushed demeanour.

 

"It was gross," you admitted softly. "-But it's what they taught me. It's what I know. Sometimes, you have to be a bigger monster than the scum that's out there. Or they will hurt you, it's that simple," a bitterness in your tone that made the man take pause - before sighing himself. He couldn't fault your logic, he just hated that it came out of such a young mouth - more than once he thought, shit, girlie, act a little human. Act a little bit more like a foolhardy twenty-something. God, Negan could remember his 20s. He was an asshole who couldn't be dragged away from a bar crawl and fully invested himself into fraternity culture. He'd wasted his 20s and he was glad for it - but he looked at you and saw an absence of that joy. He looked at you, and all he saw was suffering.

 

Usually, he wouldn't feel a damn thing for it, but now, because it was you - because you'd made him care, he cared. And it hurt. And it sucked. He didn't know how to deal with it, or make it go away.

 

"Remind me not to fuck with you," he quipped, before moving his lips so they were in your hair. You blinked in surprise, feeling him kiss you on top of the head - as though you'd done anything to deserve it, and again, you were not accustomed to this man's....other side, his...God, was this 'Romantic Negan'? Could he even _be_ romantic? What was his endgame here? He always had an endgame.

 

You hated the fact you couldn't fight the warmth blossoming in your chest, and wished he'd do it again.

 

"But God, I think I fuckin' love it when you take liberties like that," he sighed "-never thought I'd say that shit. I love being in control - fuck, you musta did a number on me last night, screwed my head on backwards or some shit,"

 

You blushed, remembering him in your lips the night prior - all the things you'd done, said and enjoyed, it was enough to make you warm all over, and try to put the horror of what you did to Clarence in a different part of your mind.

 

"I love watching you take liberties like you did with that asshole outside," he breathed, going into your ear - and fuck, he had to know that it was seductive, there was no way with forty years on this Earth that he didn't know exactly what it was doing to you "-like you did last night, with me,"

 

You glanced at your bloodied hand and arm, and chewed your lower lip - feeling the goosebumps the man had raised with incredibly little effort.

 

"Any chance I could ask you to take a few more with me, darlin' ?" he said softly, eyes closed as he slowly pulled you onto his knee, carefulling to put you on the softest part of his legs, knowing that he didn't want to hurt the part of you that was still sore.

 

"We need to talk still," you said, breathing in sharply before flinching at the sensation of Negan eclipsing you suddenly with his arms, before relaxing, feeling the warmth and leather absolutely cake you. It was strangely blissful. "I -  maybe later. I don't think - that right now, I mean. I just - I just killed a man in the grossest possible way and I've still got his blood on me. It feels wrong, somehow," you blurted.

 

"So talk," said Negan bluntly, not furthering his advances, but keeping his arms snugly around you in a way you were slowly recognising to try to be a comforting gesture. "But if it's Clay you're thinkin' bout, might I remind you that we don't really give much a shit about honouring his memory? He proved to he was scum, pure 'n simple babe. If we're talkin' about it feeling wrong, shit I don't wanna be right - I've never been _more_ physically attracted to you than right fucking now, holy shit," he groaned.

 

He really was fucked up, if anything it should have made his genitals shrivel up and not want to so much as cross you even accidentally, but instead he was just massively, massively attracted to your power, like a moth to flame.

 

"God just - say what you gotta say, I've been dealin' with my fuckin' trouser-snake all goddamn day, I can deal a little longer,"

 

You blushed horribly, feeling the accusation in his tone, but couldn't help but feel a small pride, and some other more lustful feelings.

 

"I want Daryl out of the box," you said softly - you saw something ignite in his eyes when you tilted your head back against his chest to look up at him and saw his intense eyes staring back down at you, almost angry - or annoyed.

 

"Before you say anything, I wasn't going to bring it up or just - y'know, be Mr Grimes's skivvy when it comes to getting around you. I've been keeping a loose kinda track and I made the choice to go see him today - and... God, Negan. He's done his bird, there's no point to keeping him there and you know it. Not when we have the Grimes's - and Eugene, it's just pride keeping him in there and you know it,"

 

You shifted a bit on his legs, blushing heavily and ignoring the obvious erection.

 

"I'm tryna hold you to a better standard than the bayou, so please don't make it harder for me to do that,"

 

Oh, fuck you - Negan groaned internally - you had to pull that line, and it was indeed, the best line - as it was actually making him feel a needle of guilt as he looked deeply into your pleading face and wondered when exactly you'd softened him up this fucking much.

 

"And if you still wanna prove a point you can ban him from Alexandria now you have guys stationed there to monitor the gun situation. Plus! I mean, it could be seen as an act of good faith? I mean, I heard the story. You took two of their people and they're hurting, but then you also took Daryl - and that's not fair, maybe they'll be less effort in stabilising Alexandria and keeping them fighting for us and under Compound control if we just....smoothed things out even if it's just a teeny, tiny, bit."

 

He hated that you made sense, and growled under his breath.

 

"I'll think about it," only to be greeted by your - _oh -_ fucking bounce on his lap as you bound forward into his chest after he said that, feeling a sweeping sense of relief, as though he said yes. To you, this proved that he was at least a little redeemable, certainly not to Rick, or his people. But to you - and in your eyes, that's all that really mattered.

 

He really hated that you bounced on his lap but he really wished you'd do it again and uttered as much.

 

"Oh, hun, do that again," he smirked, making your face heat up against his neck when you shyly buried it in there.

 

"Told you, it doesn't... I'm not... I don't want to start feeling hot right now, so please stop with your sexy old man bullshit," you groaned suddenly, pulling your face out of his neck to give him the most annoyed stare you could muster.  "Seriously - it... - it's not right, I'm all bloody and... "

 

Negan sighed.

 

"Alright, alright, I get it. The world wont end just 'cos I don't get my dick wet, you can't judge a guy for tryin' though," he grinned.  "I am, however- going to ask if you could at least give me a little show, y'know, help me out a little,"

 

"If you want, of course. I can just take care of it - "

 

You froze, face burning.

 

"Uh... r-right now? Like, right now, on this sofa? I mean, what do you want?"

 

It just didn't feel right, but then you saw his hooded, lustful stare, and knew he was serious. You felt yourself shiver, glancing nervously at him and wondering what he would want for you to do - only for his sexual, smooth, American tones to wash all over you in the way it had last night when he begged you.

 

"Take. Off. Your. Clothes," he sounded out each word slowly, and filled with obvious urge.  You looked at him oddly, wondering how the mystique simply hadn't gone - and began unbuttoning the shirt with the least amount of seductiveness possible. He'd seen you naked loads of times, so if this was all he needed, you could do that, you supposed. You tossed it to the arm of the sofa and unveiled your naked breasts, looking at him in flat confusion.

 

He caught your confused look, and smirked, his hand lazily moving into his jeans and over his crotch, making him sigh contentedly.

 

"Good girl," he watched as your eyes became stuck to him, trailing down his leather-clad arm and settling between his legs, in that gap between your thighs and his crotch. It was a test for Negan, really - after everything you'd said in the heat of the moment, and watching the embarrassment mixed with lust and shame.

 

Shame?

 

Oh yeah, that was shame - clearly you had a fair few hangups to deal with.

 

"Pants and panties too," he said, gesturing for you to stand up in front of him, watching as you were quick to shove the pants down in one crude gesture, and quickly made you stop before you got to the underwear.

 

"Slowly," he hissed.

 

You looked at him in continued confusion - slowly hooking your fingers in at the material around the hips and then dragged it slowly down thick, muscular thighs, cringing slightly as the material came down, but lagged and clung at your entrance, blushing and unable to look at him as you pulled them down, exposing a clear, thin, quickly snapping trail from your pussy to the material of your panties.

 

"Fucking hell, you weren't kidding," Negan snorted "-I really am turnin' you on, aren't I?" smugness and cockiness wheedling into his tone.

 

"Mn, my dirty girl," he sighed contentedly, brazenly drawing his cock out from his jeans and steadily pumping it and staring at your body, hardly blinking. It embarrassed you as much as it excited you, it was different when Negan did it. It was because he wanted you - because you'd driven him to this and it wasn't him trying to hurt you - giving you outs at every chance he could. You blushed and wondered how he was comfortable doing this in front of you, before you realised it might as well have been payback for last night.

 

"You are  _just_ so fucking hot!" he mumbled, stroking himself in front of you as you pressed your thighs together and nervously rubbed your knees against each other, to distract from the warm, curling sensation in your gut. You grimaced, and wiped at the blood on your arm instead. Negan let out a long, pleasure-filled sigh and ushered you to sit on his legs - which, you did so, but extremely warily, feeling your eyes unable to pull themselves away from what he was doing to himself. He looked up at you, sitting awkwardly on his lap, blushing up a storm and running your hand up and down your blood covered arm with rhythmic nervousness and groaned. 

 

"I really shouldn't be turned on by you right now, should I?"

 

"Not...really," you said lamely, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him as he continued to stroke himself off. He noticed that you were embarrassed, either by your actions or his, but he had a sense you were lost in your own, about the events that had occurred, it didn't matter how hot he managed to make you - he realised. He stopped his own touching for a moment, and slowly unzipped his jacket, opening it and leaving it on the couch to give his skin some relief from the sweat layer forming, and pulled you into his black shirt he had on underneath, before coiling his hand around his cock once more. His embrace was lazy but warm, and his shoulder was moving against you when you leaned into him. 

 

"But so are you," he teased back "-Only difference is, I'm doin' something about it,"

 

"I was fine before you..." you shuddered against him "-s-started doing that... I still think it's...inappropriate,"

 

Very seriously, but in a nonetheless lust-laden voice, he groaned in slight disappointment and asked if you wanted him to stop, and that he could go back to doing it alone, but you felt the warmth pooling in your gut as you heard his neediness, and whimpered a no, much to your mounting sense of shame. He felt you pushing your face into one side of his neck as though to hide your face and was suddenly quite gentle in telling you to not be ashamed of yourself. You didn't know if he was just trying to get a leg over or what, you suspected - just from the rigor of his movements, that it played a definite part - but it was _working._

 

_What kind of monster are you? That you can do this, after...that?_

 

You heard him mumbling in your ear - knowing how it made your knees tremble, begging permission to inch his hand around your thighs and you let him. You felt him heaving against you as he masturbated in the gap between your abdominals, feeling him gently hitting against you as he did it. You heard him start to whine, something you weren't used to hearing, it was small, and almost unnoticable, but with him right in your ear like that, you could hear everything over the sound of rubbing skin, and blushed hotly, feeling your toes curl before you could manage to stop it. You felt the shivering sensation down your spine and he must have noticed you'd had it too, just from how your body quivered against his.

 

He was moaning - telling you not to be ashamed of yourself, telling you that you were well within your rights to do what you did, even if what you did was disgusting by its very nature, he marvelled at your power, and quite literally got off on it, now he wished that you would. At the very least, he wished he would cave into your inexplicable attraction towards him when his own arousal mounted. On its face, you wouldn't have felt anything except dread, slight regret and self-disgust in the wake of what you'd done to Clarence, but right now, all you felt was power, you felt hot, you felt respected - you'd felt VULNERABLE because of all the things you'd said as you had what could only be called a psychotic break.

 

You'd exposed yourself, then defended the vulnerability you shared intimately with that massive group of deadly individuals with a frightening level of gore and gusto. Of course, Negan couldn't fucking help it, you made it all so damn _hard_ when you shed the nice girl routine. He heard you whisper the words that his cock wanted so badly to hear - it had been simple, but drove him up the wall all the same. Uttering quite simply " _...Touch me?"_ in a cringing, questioning tone - like you were unsure it was okay to even want.

 

He had obliged you in a way you could only describe as shockingly kind - his fingers were large, smooth and rather slender for a man - perhaps from the fact he guarded them so often in leather gloves. You expected them to be a lot rougher from his lifestyle, but Negan was full of surprises. You remember cringing as you felt the blood on your arm rub against the sofa when you splayed your arms around his neck - before making a noise similar to a soft squeak.

 

Negan chuckled throatily - making you chew your lip slightly.

 

"That was cute," he teased - sliding his fingers in digit by digit, and smiled as he was met with very little in the way of resistance - like your whole body was just aching and desperate - all just from watching his old ass go to town on himself. "How the fuck do you go from scary to cute so damn quick? It'll make a man's head spin," he grunted.

 

You closed your eyes, whimpering against him, feeling him roam inside of you with two fingers, knowing just where to push you - just where to rub you from the outside with his third finger, it was, strangely, like he knew your body better than you did. His forty years of expertise were clearly paying off, though, you mused, Major Chuck had been older by a few years but he hadn't been nearly so good. You quivered again, feeling your knees go weak atop his lap - ' _oh yeah, this is aaaall Negan.'_

 

Age barely had a thing to do with it. He was just _good._

 

 _"Fuck,_ you're just so goddamn responsive, it's so fucking sexy," he groaned, feeling the way you contracted around his fingers, and subsequently masturbating himself faster in rhythm with what he was doing, and if he wanted to be inside of you - he didn't push it, not like that.

 

You remembered how you'd been able to convince him mid-passionate act to do what you needed, and somehow found your voice between all your trembling and reluctance washes of pleasure. You were messing his greased back hair up considerably - accidentally putting your bloody hand into it - if he realised, he didn't care, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had his hair messed up by needing, feminine hands, desperate to grab more of him like he was about to disappear from under you if he didn't just keep on _sliding_ those luscious fingers of his inside of you with mounting vigor.

 

"You're such a good girl," he breathed down at you, feeling you crying out in pleasure against him, and freezing all of his motions when he felt something warm racing down his neck and hanging from the soft brush of your eyelashes that he knew instantly to be tears. With both hands being as busy as they were, the tremendous urge to wipe them away wasn't an easily acted out one. You couldn't explain it - it felt so good it was causing almost painful contractions in your stomach from the force of what wanted to come, and there was a fair amount of conflict occurring.

 

_"Negan, please..."_

 

When he asked what was wrong, and if he hurt you - he didn't expect your shuddering tone to softly whimper a demand.

 

 _"P-p-please t-t-take D-Daryl o-out of the **f-FUCKING** b-b-BOX!"_   you snarled suddenly, lurching your body against his to force yourself to keep riding his hand, some of your authoritarian tone creeping its way into your begging tones in a strange amalgamation that rendered him shocked for a moment. Not an easy thing to do, but something you did often.

 

Negan blinked in surprise, and felt the softly whispered "Yes..." leak from his lips before he even had a chance of stopping it, like he'd become swept in your utter desperation. He'd think on it later - it must be bothering you immensely if even in the throws of pleasure, even after what you did to Clarence, your mind still reverted back to your original purpose. You really were a fucking machine, maybe he'd have to have a little _chat_ to Rick about exploiting your kindness. He wasn't sure.

 

"It hurts so _good,_ fuck, did I say stop?" you snarled, closing your eyes, feeling your body betray you - falling into the hormonal urges that he'd stoked, prodded and ignited with gusto when he moaned into your shy little body that you shouldn't be ashamed. He felt his hair getting progressively more out of place, and the wetness of the blood into his scalp and down the side of his face - and himself not caring, moving both of his hands - getting yourself and him off in fixed unison. " _You got me here, now you finish it. Fucking finish it. P-please. God. Fucking do it."_

 

He didn't know someone could be demanding and begging at the same time, but you managed it, only to bounce with more gusto, demanding more effort on his part to match your movements with his fingers - with a kind of youthful exertion that he hadn't been in contact with in a long time, even if his wives were on the younger side, none were quite so teenage when it came to how much their libido reacted to his advances. You were an entirely different animal - and he didn't know how long it'd take for you to finish - he didn't understand that it felt so good it was actually giving you a torturous cramp in your stomach - demanding your entire body release with the force of a fucking semi-truck.

 

And it did.

 

Just as he was getting ready to start matching you and intensifying as much as he could, feeling his hands tire a little, and his own urge to climax getting harder to fight, he didnt expect you to crash your chest against him, forcing the fist closed around his cock to push against your abdominals. You were screaming into his neck - like your entire body had been taken by a seismic fucking tremor and couldn't stop it even if it wanted to. Every part of you locked up around him and he wished for a delicious moment that it was his cock inside of you and not his fingers, feeling your whole body compress and decompress around him, racked head to toe in pleasure and quite suddenly gushing down his fingers in a way he was sure you'd probably get embarrassed about later. He wasn't even sure that he'd even gotten a woman to cum quite like that, and he'd managed that feat a fair few more times than a lot of men typically did.

 

Clearly, you hadn't seen it coming either, because you were about to gasp out a thank you - only to be swept in the tide of your own, overly-excited, rushing orgasm.

 

Your heart raced and beated loudly in your own ears for a while, your vision askew as you felt him lift you off of his fingers as your entire body trembled, pushing you gently so you were on your back, cursing you out softly as the sound of skin rubbing got louder and you felt something wet on you, your body still naked from the show he'd asked for. He needed to own you - and after feeling that orgasm he'd incurred - it had been too much for even _Negan_ to bare, and for the second time, you broke the dam all over his restraint.

 

He needed you to see it, and you had to admit, when you had him in your mouth, if you hadn't been so intent on drinking him dry, you fantasised in the moment about feeling him all over you in the messiest, most disgusting manner your sober mind could think of. You wanted to feel him get so desperate that he'd have to cum all over you because you were too much for him to bare, and because he was _yours,_ exclusively - and now, it was actually happening. You were sure the image was going to stay with you forever, the half-removed pants, the desperate pumping, the way all the redness had swollen at the head and you could tell he'd wanted nothing more than to slip it between your legs but didn't want to rush you - and secretly balked at the idea of hurting you worse. His head tilted forward, the redness in his neck, the kind of moans he made, his eyes hooded with an intense, physical lust and animal need. The wet fingers that had been inside of you ghosted over your breasts, lavishing in the way you heaved under him and moved them from your ragged breaths after the orgasm he'd given you. The kind of smug satisfaction and absolute pleasure that followed when he saw lines of white splattering down your naked, glistening form couldn't be replicated, the smile on his lips being a mixture of smug, prideful, satisfied, greedy, _dominant._ You were his. His girl. His best and only girl - _THE girl -_ and he could see the lingering lust in your face when he'd done it too - like he knew that in your dirtiest mind - you liked what he did.

 

And fuck, Negan loved that.

 

You really were his dirty girl.

 

* * *

 

 

It was now that Rick Grimes felt more than a little sick, and if he was honest, slightly disappointed in himself. Carl and Michonne came back, and detected the off atmosphere in the Compound, and they weren't short of people hungry to tell them what happened, even if they didn't like the pair at all - as they weren't Saviors. He had peeked in the keyhole for perhaps slightly longer than strictly necessary, but not wanting to be the creepy voyeur, backed away when the surprise wore off. He had followed out of concern - whether you were with Negan or not. It took him a little longer to get over what he saw than perhaps he was ready to admit, but he was too sick with himself to see you straight away.

 

He relied on you, a stranger, a young woman - for so much, because he'd immediately seen the pull you had over Negan and had no problem taking advantage of you to make life easier for his group, and then, he learned - that you were kind.

 

You were good, and you were kind, and you'd been through more than he, a grown man and a former cop, could easily stomach - and he'd used you.

 

It didn't feel like it fully until he'd stood outside the door - and heard your breathy moans mixed in with Negan's - and then your begging and pleasureful demanding, screaming.

 

_Please let Daryl out of the fucking box!_

 

It almost felt like you were putting your body out for a man who should be old enough to find a solution himself. Rick Grimes was a fixer, and he'd given that responsibility over to you, an abused and from what you'd said to Clarence, **vulnerable** girl - in his eyes. He walked away from the door - approaching his son and lover when they'd come back from scavenging, and hung his head.

 

"We don't like Negan, but God. I think we have to do better for that girl - you wouldn't believe what she's doing to get Daryl out," he said softly to Michonne, trying to needle Carl out of the conversation slightly, but he could tell, just from Rick's tone, he could tell.

 

The Alexandrians sat in their home on the Compound in an uncomfortable, guilty silence.


	14. Stuck On Humanity

 

You could not help but think you had made them all privy to and partaken in something horrible, made more apparent when the people who smiled you, kept their heads down, or merely nodded once at you – and stayed clear of your path.

 

You wondered, for a moment, how Negan could possibly have enjoyed things being this way. Eugene hadn’t exactly been short with you – but you could taste the terror in the air at munitions, truly. He didn’t engage so warmly, he was stiff – like he was scared of you.

 

“C’mon Neck-Curtain, what you saw out there wasn’t for you. You’re not like the men out there it was aimed at, you and I both know it,”

 

Eugene snapped, dropping his bullet casing on the floor, his even deadpan tones warbling and broken.

 

“You took the man’s heart out and I don’t even want to know what downstairs looked like! It’s weird, okay? I don’t know how to react and neither does anyone else!”

 

You lowered your head in what he could detect as shame, making the older man sigh, wiping his hands of powder and move his chair so it faced you.

 

“Ma’am – I like to think we’re on friendly terms, certainly past acquaintances at this point. But God’s honest truth you scared the living daylights outta me.”

 

Then, what he said surprised you.

 

“But I don’t know that were wrong to do it – if he… if he did what you said he did. I mean, you sounded pretty sure…”

 

“Dwight caught him,” you said icily, making Eugene grimace and look away.

 

“I don’t know that two wrongs make a right,”

 

You were quiet at that, before steeling yourself – your jaw clenching and looking at the man who to you, seemed all sorts of soft, and admittedly naïve. How anyone managed to be naïve in this world was a fucking shocker on its own.

 

“In this world they have to, you don’t get it Eugene. You just don’t fucking get it. And I don’t even know that I want you to get it. When someone does something like that -when people stop being human to you, and you can just violate them like that. You’re free game to me. You’re a monster, to me, you’re no better than those rotten fuckers outside the gate,”

 

He shifted around uncomfortably.

 

“But the fact that some part of you doesn’t get that. That you’re still… that you’re still battling with your morals about it. That means you have something I lost,” you said bitterly.

 

“And I don’t know that I can ever get it back,”

 

Eugene was off with you, Rick had disappeared with Michonne, leaving Carl as Negan's guarantee that he'd come back - which seemed to be the nature of the relationship regarding him staying on Compound grounds. Aaron - he just, he didn't balk at the sight of you, but his eyes glittered appraisingly, like he was judging you as a whole new woman. Eyes of judgement, they were everywhere, even as people as rough and tumble as the Saviors. They had a limit, and it felt like you'd danced over it. You thrashed it. You wasted it.

 

Your fists hurt to clench because of the sheer amount of stitching that had to be done after you'd been tied up with the barbed wire.

 

Aaron watched as you punched, punching and punching at the sandbags in the training area. Punching, punching and punching. Eventually he left, he came back, and found you still punching - it had to have been a while - hours maybe. The sun passed overhead and the shirt had been peeled off and - at last minute, remembering that the Saviors still kept to ideas of modesty, and weren't quite so feral as the bayou, the flannel had been folded and wrapped around your upper torso as some sort of thick brassier to reveal the rest of you absolutely caked in several layers of sweat, leaking into every muscle crevice.

 

You felt the stitches start to come open, but you didn't care.

 

When Aaron came back with Diesel - you didn't react, your knuckles had turned a cherry red, a difficult achievement considering your complexion, but reflected the level of force you were exerting. It was now Diesel noticed a steady leak of sand coming out of the bag, which increased with each punch. If you noticed the time go by, you didn't show it. There were times when you'd worked yourself into a sweat for sure, but this was different, very, very different.

 

Your whole body was vibrating with power - too much power, Diesel thought, trying to grab for one of your arms. Aaron followed - they felt like they should have been doing something, but without missing a beat, you pivoted onto your back foot and delivered a swift blow with both arms, getting Aaron in the cheek, and Diesel clear in the nose.

 

A chorus of swear words later, and both realised trying to get you out of the training ground was perhaps a bad idea, not even the lording authority of the One-Man Fun Gestapo himself, Simon. By the time Simon arrived, your knuckles had split open - and you looked - well, first of all, like someone he didn't want to approach lest he end up with the same bloody nose as Diesel, but also, like a complete wreck.

 

"Negan's back," said Simon expectantly.

 

When you didn't react - he scowled.

 

Okay.

 

"Funnily enough!"

 

Punch.

 

"My world,"

 

Punch.

 

"Doesn't begin,"

 

Punch.

 

"And end,"

 

Punch.

 

"With Negan!"

 

Punch.

 

"Y'know for about an hour and a half last night, the way you moaned made me think otherwise," the teasing hit you like a brick to the head, but you still didn't stop. You were just angry - angry that the Saviors were reacting so badly to you, angry that you'd lost all the work you'd made with these people in one fatal power play, angry that you had succumbed to this masculine chestbeating gesture but knowing there had to be no other way. That was how the world worked now, this is how it had to be. It was making you cruel.

 

_Punch._

 

Violent.

 

"Anyone home, darlin?"

 

He saw the blood spraying against the sandbag, he also saw Diesel and Aaron violently shaking their heads - one clutching their nose, telling him not to go anywhere near you. After one long day, it wasn't really something he wanted to deal with. One of his Saviors had killed a member of The Kingdom over a fucking cantaloupe and after all the hard work that you'd put in, into making his empire run like butter, he found himself in the unusual position of offering grace - and lying and saying it was from you. It was the strangest thing he'd ever done, the Saviors just took, nothing else, but he knew what you'd want him to do and more importantly, he knew from tracking reports they'd been a suspicious amount of activity following an altercation with The Bayou. So, he needed all communities to have their hands on deck. All of them. He was not a kind sort of guy, now, he could be - but it wasn't in his nature to bend the knee, especially not to some delusional asshole who fancied himself a king.

 

Though he had to admit, the pet tiger was pretty fucking cool. He might have even slightly envied it.

 

"Okay..." he sighed, closing his eyes.  "You're really not going to like this,"

 

He came up between you and the sand-bag, and saw you get ready to strafe past him - like he was nothing, like he wasn't even there, and quickly reached both arms around your waist as you charged forward. Negan used every sort of experience he had, both from training with you and his extensive past with physical ed, and lifted you up with a slight wince, trying to focus all of your weight over his shoulder - and thank God they were broad, because you were broad, and definitely no waif. Short yes, but certainly no waif.

 

"Oh fucking Jesus Christ in heaven, note to self, muscles are very heavy. You're a heavy lady. And nope, I am not calling you fat. Forty years on this Earth and I have learned you don't call women fat," said Negan lightheartedly, wincing and straightening his back. Yeah, he should have lifted with his legs instead of go at you like a rugby player - in retrospect, he maybe should have thought this through.

 

"Yep, feelin' that one in the morning," he sighed, feeling you sag against him in defeat.

 

"Put me down. I wasn't finished," you hissed, not taking kindly to being moved like a sack of potatoes.

 

"Nope, I say you're done. Your hands say you're done too, Carson would also agree, which - incidentally, is where I'm dragging your fine ass," you blinked as you felt his hand slap at your rear, considering your front was draped down his back - you glanced at his arse. It was a nice arse, you had to admit - but he was still, quite proudly, wearing the same pants as yesterday, where there was the aforementioned handprint, proudly showing where you'd groped him. Plenty of people had glanced at it and seen, but nobody had the gall to comment, in fact, it made him feel a little bit on top of the world.

 

"Figured I should do that back to you by the way,"

 

He rather proudly hocked you away off the training grounds, oblivious or simply not caring how hard you were blushing in embarrassment at being dragged off like an errant child, admittedly, you'd gone a little far in letting off steam, but you didn't expect him to be quite so abrupt with you.

 

"Good God girl, what even is your squat game?" he continued, when you didn't flinch, he could only reason that you hurt a lot less, he made a point not to hit it very hard, he was enitrely playful which, seeing the look of seething rage on your face, might not have been the smartest move.

 

You were silent, scowling at the ground as he dragged you away.

 

"You still doing your 'lights on, nobody's home' thing?"

 

Negan sighed, feeling a headache come on. Okay, plan b - he wanted to come back to something normal, to you relaxing in his nice home, using the showering amenities and some of the lady stuff he had brought over, to have you smelling nice and ready to embrace him - it was stupid to say it out loud. But he wanted to come back to something a little human - not....whatever this was. But some part of you was broken. Maybe all of you.

 

He put you back down on the at the communals when he felt your angry, out of breathe gasping turn into something even.

 

He glanced down at you - seeing what you'd done to the flannel and snorted - he even felt your sweat all over his jacket.

 

"Okay, so we're going to shower, get the blood off you, and then we're gonna have a proper little talk," he said seriously, lips twitching "-maybe one that doesn't devolve into both of us getting off, at least - for a little while, I would have got this done yesterday, but you were out like a light on the sofa. Didn't have it in me to get your ass up,"

 

You stood on the spot, staring down at yourself and letting him tug you in the shower stall, slowly unwrapping the shirt which you'd had tied around your breasts and unzipped his own jacket, making you blink. He was joining you? Alright, that was definitely new, and things were going very fast - as fast as they could. It was supposed to, the world showed you that it could end too quickly for anyone to dilly-dally when it came to anything. So, you supposed, that included relationships.

 

You watched as he stripped down, naked from head to toe, again, still an odd sight to you - not in a bad way. But, it was strange not to see him with still pants or boxers on, or covered by a bedsheet, just, standing there. Utterly naked - and not really caring that you were staring at him.

 

He was surprisingly silent as the water came on, merely ushering you under the showerhead and letting it get on your sweaty body first, once you were fully naked too. Then - you felt it touch your skin, and shuddered - a loofah. The fucking loofah he always joked about - he'd went and gotten one and was gently massaging your back with it, it was perfect to dip into the crevices of your muscles - he admired how they rippled under the water, flexing your back unintentionally when you moved.

 

You were beautiful, but it wasn't the first thing he'd have looked for - that was for certain.

 

Blood ran from your hands as the hot water hit the pair of you, slowly filling the small space with steam. It was definitely intimate - hell, it took you a few moments just to drag your eyes up from seeing what Negan looked like completely flaccid - and yet, nothing sexual was occurring. It was strange, but not bad.

 

"Mmnnnnn, this is a good way to end my day, not what I had in mind, but pretty good," he chuckled, gently scrubbing your back.

 

You sighed, closing your eyes - you couldn't remember if anyone had ever been this caring when they touched you - it had been....well, maybe it had never happened. You couldn't remember.

 

"What happened out there? I get what happened last night, but not this," he picked up your open, wounded hand that was closest to him and let you turn around against him, letting him move the loofah down your collarbone, smiling at you. You looked up at him and felt your breath catch in your throat for a second - his hair wasn't greased back, it was wet and out of place, his skin shining under the water. For a moment, you were stunned by what he looked like when he was a mess. He was, quite literally, a hot mess.

 

"I was angry," you said lamely, he snorted, moving the loofah under one of your breasts and chuckled warmly.

 

"No shit, I gathered that, I wanna know why," his eyes narrowed "-what do I need to clean up?"

 

Who pissed you off, was his question. He was asking you like a - fuck, like an over protective boyfriend, and you couldn't help but start to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. It was enough to confuse the man, who just gave you an exasperated look, and scrubbed a little harder.

 

"I'm angry at me, okay?" you sighed, tilting your head forward so it was leaning against his chest, obscuring his vision of your front and making him move the loofah back behind you. "-What happened yesterday, it shouldn't have happened,"

 

You burrowed your nose against him, breathing him in.

 

"But it needed to. And I hate it. I hate that this is what the world is now. I hate that this is what it's done to me. I hate that the bayou made me like this. I hate that I'm capable of this. God, Negan," you felt yourself choking up slightly - it wasn't exactly the most therapeutic experience, but it was starting to get on top of you, and you were finally having a delayed reaction to everything you'd done, it seemed.

 

"Negan, I used to be a good girl," you whimpered.   "Sure, I was a shit in school sometimes, but I got good grades, even when I fell in with bad people, mother always said I had a future so bright she had to wear shades. She said I was going to do better than her, and find a better man, and a better life. I was going to be happy. It was going to end. I wasn't going to keep on repeating all the mistakes the women in our family make...."

 

"Violent men, shitty relationships, arranged marriages, cycles of...the same bullshit. Over, and over, and over!" you looked up at him, your frustration apparant - and his expression was utterly unreadable.

 

"Escaping them or becoming worse, or just getting victimised over and over. It was supposed to be different, _I_ was supposed to be different. I supposed to live, laugh and love and be human - properly, not just surviving, but actually living. 'Cos that's all we did - even before the world ended. Surviving the crime ridden shithole we came from, surviving my father, surviving the judgement of all the family that did better than us. Then surviving the Bayou, surviving the Major. Surviving Evelyn, Shax, Creed - all of it. She wanted better for me. She wanted me to live, not just survive. Be happy. Be human, make mistakes and not get beaten for it," you croaked "-and now, it seems like once a fortnight, at least, something bad happens. I snap, and I'm pulling bits of humanity out of my fingernails like it's fucking _nothing,"_

 

Creed was a new name. He made a mental note of it, but didn't know what else to say to you. He was responsible for the cut off of your comfort point, which had, for a while, been your walker mother, and now there was a void, it was his job to fill it.

 

Hoo boy, the sociopath was not quite equipped for this, but he was sure as shit going to try.

 

"That's all I wanted from today, you know," sighed Negan - maybe it was time for a bit of honesty. That comforting shit wasn't something he was good at, but honesty didn't expend that much effort, and he could afford you that. He wrapped his arms around you, giving up scrubbing for the moment and surrounding you with his much taller form, lording over you in the shower. It was a moment that, if you could, you would have lived in. It felt far nicer than you deserved.

 

"I wanted to come back, I wanted to open the door to our house, and see you dressed up, smelling nice, waiting for me. Arms open, fucking human. Y'know?"

 

You gave him a look like a deer caught in the headlights, clearly, you had not expected this bout of returned honesty, and felt a needle of guilt inside of you that you could not have given Negan something so simple as a moment where he wasn't the boss anymore and he was human. You could still do it - you hoped. There was still time, if he wanted it - because part of you....part of you wouldn't have minded it so much either. For a moment, you could pretend the world hadn't ended.

 

"I don't want my Saviors just surviving either. I want people to live. Might not look like it, but I'd like it for those assholes in Alexandria, that fucking delusional sadsack Kingdom, and yeah - Hilltop too. Girl, if I had it my way, I would like it to spread across the state and to the rest of the fuckin' world. But I'm just one guy, and I barely hold the place together as it is. You've helped, a lot. I had to realise that shit quickfast when the Bayou came knockin' and took you from us," he admitted bluntly.

 

"But the world makes it so there always has to be an underclass, some people have to suffer to keep the rest of us goin', and I know that you hate it like that."

 

You gave him a stubborn look, and nodded once.

 

"Success should be judged not by how much any one group has, but by the living standard of the poorest denominator, as that is a true measure of human accomplishment," you quoted, making him raise a brow at you. "Professor Mattius taught me that, it was in one of his philosophy books," you added with a light blush.

 

"Even the people at the bottom of the pile should have a life worth living, and we need to give it to them. You've shown you're a dictator, a bloody good one at that, but you haven't shown them you're a leader, there's a difference," and yeah, there was. Rick Grimes - he'd been a leader, and part of why Negan disliked him so much is that he reminded him of himself at a point in The Rising when he hadn't been so quite fargone.

 

God, it was like you were dragging him back to humanity by your teeth and he wasn't complaining one bit.

 

"I'm just one fuckin' guy," said Negan bluntly, eyes narrowed.  "Not a popular one at that,"

 

"You're an ideal, so the ideal changes when you change," you prodded.  "There's a lot of things you can't come back from. Don't get me wrong, you're not gonna be sainted anytime soon neither. Lets face it, you're kind of a dick,"

 

Negan snorted.

 

"But you can always do better than the day before, that much I believe in," you chewed your lip "-I _have_ to believe in it, it's the only fuckin' way I sleep at night," you confessed. Very suddenly, it felt like you had the weight on your shoulders, and tremendously strong as they were, he could almost feel you wilting inside of his arms, and it drew up a sort of despair from his gut that he couldn't quite filter out, or stop from speaking out with.

 

 _"God fucking dammit_ don't be doin' shit like this to me. You're breakin' this sad little excuse for a heart I've got and it's weird enough to deal with," he groaned. _  
_

 

You laughed humourlessly against him.

 

"You're fucking everything up for me, fucking **everything!** " Negan accused, his tone also reflecting a frustration that you'd had taken when talking about your own anger and rage. "Fine, first you come in, you tip the scale, but then everything runs like butter. Fucking fine. Great. Ace. I love it. Go figure. We get twice the goddamn output. Everything is hunky fuckin' dory. You're awesome. I'm the bad guy, and you're the fucking angel. I get that."

 

"But then you go and you drag me into your shit and I can't get out and all I want is you around me all the fucking time - there's a goddamn you-shaped stick up my ass that I can't fucking get out. Everytime I picture that disgusting fucking prick's hands on you it makes me want to kill everything I fucking set eyes on. I need to know everything but at the same time, every time I fucking hear it I want to burst a fucking blood vessel and nuke the entire state of Louisiana with them in it," he snarled, a fire in his eyes as he got progressively more angry the more he vented at you, gradually pushing you against the shower wall between angrier panting.

 

"You drag me in and you don't even know you're fucking doing it. You turn me on and you don't even fucking realise it. You fucking ooze power and it makes me want to get on my knees and --" he sucked in a sharp breath "-God, give you things you didn't even know you wanted,"

 

You shivered - how the hell did he get from angry to sexual? Or perhaps, with Negan, those two things were just inextricably linked. It was becoming obvious to you now that the man was also dealing with his own internal turmoil, he just refrained from showing it often. Now he was being honest with you, finally, and not omitting things anymore. You wanted to know what he meant by getting on his knees, you wanted to know everything about him in this moment, just like he wanted to know everything about you. You wanted it - and with a pain in your chest, you realised that you NEEDED it.

 

Fuck. Was this how he felt the entire time?

 

"Your stupid, sexy British bullshit, God - fucking - I HATE that this is what it had to cost for me to have you finally. I hate it, but I'm so fucking glad the world ended. I'm so glad your family was shitty and it brought you here. I'm so fucking glad you got out of Louisiana and I want to fucking **_murder the shit out of everyone who so much as made you FEEL bad. Like a rabid, fucking attack dog._** I want to lose my shit. I want to just, gas that entire state, throw the fucking cigarette down and watch it all go up in lights," he breathed.

 

He leaned his head down, sloping his larger body so he could whisper in your ear. Oh, fucking hell - even Honest Negan was painfully assertive, passionate and annoyingly sexy.

 

"So when you ask me something, before you even start justifying it, I sit and I wonder.... is it gonna make you smile? Like, really smile. Like when I saw you with Dipshit. Then I realised 'Shit, Negan - you're in too deep' - way too fucking deep."

 

You felt your breath catch and wondered if he was going to say what you thought he'd say or just leave it implied.

 

"So I'm going to let Daryl out of the fucking box, okay? I just want one little thing from you," he sloped down your body, confusing you, his chin settling on your lower stomach, before going down to a more intimate area, and then between your thighs, close to your knees. At first, your mind jumped to something sexual, remembering what he said earlier, but there was an oddly earnest look in his face, and you were certain that you might be the only person to ever see Negan on his knees.

 

"Tell me your fucking name," he said. "I want to know the name of my only wife."

 

His only...?

 

Of course. He'd gotten rid of the harem. Which left... oh... that left you. You weren't just a bit of fun to him, really, or just a friend with benefits. You were a friend with benefits who was off limits to everybody else, which made you his wife. Sure, people had called you his girl, but it didn't settle with you until he'd called you his wife.

 

Your eyes had widened considerably at his words, you felt control slip - and you wanted it back in a hurry, so what you said next - well, it came out of left field. Like you were getting him for all of the times he'd done it to you.

 

 _"....If I tell you my name,"_ you breathed, brushing a hand in his hair as he leaned up a little, frighteningly close to a very intimate area, and then feeling him kiss at your thigh, just because it was there. You blushed, and continued, seeing him slip deep into your words, hanging off every single one. _"...I w-want to hear you moan it later."_

 

He grinned a toothy grin, and realised that being honest with you might have been his best decision to date. You whispered it to him, deeply into his ear when he raised himself up and pressed his entire body against you, his cock twitching ever so slightly, indicating a slight excitement. The attraction you two shared was powerful, like two opposing tides crashing into each other until they were inextricably one, both powerful and dangerous, sweeping each other entirely.

 

Tch, to think, you were someone's wife. You didn't feel like it. You'd just been assigned the role.

 

You felt him detach the showerhead from the wall with easy force, moving it so it roved down your breasts and over your thighs. He'd been gentle in pulling your thighs apart, and gently directing the jet upwards, immediately making your knees quiver. It was like he knew just how far to keep the showerhead from you and just how much to pile the water-pressure, forcing you to deal with the sensation of warm water spraying between your legs and arousing you in the gentlest sort of way. You could feel the warmth pooling between your legs from the sensation of the water massaging every inch of the entrance of your pussy.

 

" _O-Oh - shit!_ H-how do you know to do that?" you hissed, chewing on your lip and tilting your head back into his body as he chuckled warmly.

 

"What can I say? I'm a dirty old man," he teased. So, porn - was the answer, clearly.

 

You whimpered as he moved it and it started to brush with your clitoris, and your knees shook slightly more - your whole body just relishing in the gentle arousal from the showerhead - and if he intensified it or just pushed it against you the right way, it might have even gotten you off.

 

"Shit! _Hnn-nuh_ -Nee- _Neeegaan_ \- too much! **T-too much!** " as your clit reacted a little more, it felt more intense, and if you could have ridden that pressure somehow, you would have, and you could have lost yourself instantly. Negan could tell in your reactions, and move the head back to the wall, chuckling at you - now he'd aroused you, and left you flush.

 

Bastard. It wasn't funny.

 

"I've probably said it before, but shit, I fucking love how my name sounds in your mouth," he practically purred, and you melted against him, giving him a curious expression. You caught your breath, ignoring your arousal and feeling clean, despite the dirty feelings, and shakily turned off the shower, slowly putting your clothes on and letting him do the same, methodically tucking his slowly developing semi into his waistband.

 

"You're a fuckin' horndog," you muttered.  "I blew you and now you can't seem to stop,"

 

"You're the one who finds my crusty old ass attractive," Negan reminded with a small smirk "-I'm just a red-blooded man, letting a pretty young thing act on him, just happens that I'm fuckin' stuck on you to boot,"

 

You gave him a look of abject disbelief, making him look at you in silent confusion.

 

"... I'm sorry, did you just say 'stuck on me' ? Ohhhh my God...what year is this? Fucking hell, you're ancient," you said bluntly, desperate to ignore your own arousal and get some lightness back into the mood after your serious shower talk.

 

Negan reached out to cuff you by the ear - and you ducked it with practiced ease, making him curse.

 

"Cheeky little bitch,"

 

"Oohhh, next you're going to say I think I'm all that and a bag of chips, right?" you teased.

 

"I mean, you act like it," Negan scoffed "-you take a lot of fucking privileges," - you were confused a second, and wondered if he was tacitly complaining during your banter.

 

"You don't like it when I touch your ass?"

 

"Nah, I fucking love that shit, do it more, makes me feel sexy," Negan winked, making you outright laugh - despite your uncomfortable sensation of warmth gathered in your thighs. "I meant the other stuff - makes sense to make you my wife if you're gonna do all that, right?"

 

You blinked and just shrugged, you didn't really know how to feel about the term, sure, it made you feel warm but...being Negan's wife didn't always mean being a wife. He'd dropped those after one session where you had his cock in your mouth, so how much did being a wife even mean to him?

 

"I guess," you said lamely, with a certain lack of enthusiasm that ticked him off a bit, as you two walked to the house together. He said he'd get Carson to come to the home instead, and restitch your hands - your knuckles just seemed a little bruised and tiny cuts had re-opened, but they werent too damaged.

 

"What, too much?" he asked, flabbergasted and now sure that he didn't understand women at all. Usually they wanted MORE commitment.

 

"No! I mean, sort of? Shit," you sighed, shaking your head as he opened the door and ushered you in, guiding you to straight to the bedroom instead of the sofa you two would dine on - where you'd last gotten each other off. "You make me sound like I'm a sickness you're stuck with, and 'wife' kinda stopped meaning much to you years ago, clearly," you said dryly.

 

"Wives usually...y'know, get married. There's an engagement process, those fancy little wedding invites, all that shit," you snorted. "Not whatever the hell you were doing, I wanna be more than that, not some shit you dump like last weeks news,"

 

Negan rolled his eyes, closing the door and getting down on one knee in an overly dramatic fashion. For the life of you, you could not predict when he was going to fall into one of his sillier moods, and this had to be one of them, because he pulled your slit open hand and took it in his own, smirking up at you.

 

"Fuckin' marry my old ass before you get wise and do better."

 

Silence.

 

"I'm serious, fuckin' marry me," he paused, almost adding it like a comedic afterthought "Please."

 

Then spluttering. Then laughing - until you saw the serious glitter in his eyes - it was the most Negan way of asking, for sure, and there hadn't even been a ring involved anywhere, but he was honestly serious. Despite his moodswings and how much he'd complained earlier, it had come from a genuine place in his heart. Some part of you really, really want this - and he really, really wanted you - he was obsessed. Yeah. Stuck on you. Fuck, he must have it bad - to overlook....everything. All of your nasty. All of your past. All of your instability. All of your dirtiness.

 

"Okay...?" you found yourself laughing stupidly. You never thought you'd get married. Shit, all it took was the world ending. "Lets get fucking married!"

 

 


	15. Take a Bite Outta Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((A slice of life chapter... more plot later, I guess.... If you want to read mushy crap with the Negan, here you go - well, that and sexytime, cos... I mean... it's Negan, I mean, I guess stuff also happens but it started as a Slice of Life so here you go)))

 

It had been innocent and wonderful. The way you laid in bed – and you’d silently held his hand, feeling your heart throbbing in your chest. You wanted to know everything – so you asked. You asked about Lucille. You asked about the music he liked before The Rising, his favourite sports teams even though you hadn’t understood it, his favourite foods, his favourite drinks. The classes he took, his best teaching memory. God, you were sure you had nagged him to death, but he seemed to take it all into stride, smiling wearily at you.

 

“Why the rush? We have all the time in the world, I’m not goin’ nowhere anytime soon,” Negan chuckled.

 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just… I just want to know everything – I can’t explain it. I don’t think I’ve… I mean… I don’t… I’ve never done something like this properly, I’m probably making a pig’s ear of it, huh?”

 

Negan chuckled at your precious choice of idiom, and just laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling and feeling you shyly tuck your face into the side of his torso – and lazily draped an arm around you in response, without so much as turning his head.

 

“I mean, I didn’t really expect the Spanish Inquisition,” he chortled, making you a little embarrassed, but his eyes had a strange, almost kindly look to them. “-But it’s sweet. I’m not sure I’ve had someone that fuckin’ interested to hear about my life.”

 

“I like it!” you insisted with a nod “-I think it’s important. Who we were before all this – it… it’s important to what we are now. And um, well, I didn’t really get to grow up properly? I remember how everything was, and I remember it burning around me, but I never got to go to university and have a career and live like a proper grown-up, so I like hearing about it,” you admitted softly.

 

“Most of those ‘proper grownups’ are dead sweetheart, you didn’t miss much by missin’ out on the fuckin’ rat race,” he reassured.

 

“I guess…” you mumbled.

 

Silence.

 

“Hey, so um…” you broke it nervously – you two could have stayed in comfortable silence forever, if it meant being this close.

 

God, he felt so fucking human, and he loved it. He really, truly, madly, deeply loved it.

 

“Tomorrow I want to get back to normal again, I mean, I’ll rest and I’ll stay in the truck, but I want to go out and do things with you again,” you murmured. “I don’t like…resting… I feel useless, even Eugene is kind of weird with me since… y’know,”

 

Negan sighed deeply, smiling with his eyes shut. Oh yeah, this was nice.

 

“I’m really gonna have to get used to someone wanting to be around me,” he chuckled.

 

“So that’s a yes?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

He was surprised when you fell asleep on him without much warning, he heard your breathing even out and heard your tiny, almost unnoticable snores and resisted the urge to chuckle.  He fell asleep too - and was disappointed all over again when awoke to an empty bed, at least, for a little while -  until he smelled something nice. He couldn't place it immediately - but he got there eventually, it was something he hadn't smelled in a while. His stomach gave a loud grumble, and he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He heard a soft muffled tone too - music, probably - and warily followed it.

 

... _When you arouse the need in me..._

 

Leaving the warmth of the covers was always a hard thing to do, but with such a nice smell to follow and a rumbling stomach, he was practically led by the nose, before he heard gentle music seeping through from under the door. It couldn't have been earlier than 7:30 in the morning, and he could hear the soft tones of classic _It Might As Well Be Swing_ filling the corridor as he made a quick pace to the bathroom, took a leak, freshened up and found himself following the noise filling the corridor up steadily with a small smile stretching on his face.

 

_...My heart says "Yes, Indeed" in me...._

 

Negan rubbed his eyes and slowly creaked the door open to the kitchen. It wasn't something he used often, except to heat something up that'd gone cold when his Saviors brought food to the house, and he was sure the oven didn't actually work, so the smell confused him, initially. His eyes landed on your figure, and raised a brow - your back was turned to him, and you appeared to be moving with some purpose, easily enjoying the music, which, admittedly - wasn't his thing. He was more of a classic rock sort of guy, but even he couldn't pick much fault with the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra, there was a reason he was a beloved classic artist. They just don't make 'em like that anymore.

 

_......Proceed with what you're leadin' me toooooo....._

 

He came in, just in his boxers, standing in the door and noticing the table had been laid out - and the source of the music was the hand-crank vinyl player you'd managed to repair, happily filling the home just so you wouldn't be stuck in utter silence, suddenly, his annoyance at waking up alone dissipated. He was confused, and felt like he was in some kind of a play, or still dreaming. Looking at your back - he saw you were naked save for a set of pilfered, tight Calvin Kleins that he'd barely worn solely because they were a bit too snug in summer, and saw an apron string tied around where they were. Up your back, he just saw your faded scars and lack of bra-strap, and chuckled.

 

_....Annnnd I've got no defense for it....._

 

Oh yeah, he had to be dreaming. This was easily a man's dream.

 

_....The heaat is too intense for it....._

 

You turned around, and revealed you were working on a camping stove, and managed to make breakfast. You gave him a tired smile - clearly you'd been up a while, and had to mobilise a little bit to get all this going.

 

_....What good would common sense for it doooo....?_

 

"Everyone likes something different in their omelettes - and we don't have much anyway and I didn't know if you liked your fried eggs well done or over easy so I just made them scrambled - I hope - I mean, I hope that's okay - I didn't add any of that powdered milk shit because that's kind of disgusting even on it's own I just did it low-flame and took a bit longer---" your silly rambling showed it wasn't a dream. If it was, you'd be a lot more confident, instead, he closed the distance with a soft chuckle, and shut you up with the sensation of his lips on your mouth as he leaned down to snatch them under his own.

 

"Gooooooood mornin'," was all Negan said, slowly drawing back and raising himself back to full height, taking the plates out of your hands and helping you set them down. You blinked as he took the spatula out of your hand and pulled you against him, hearing the apron crinkle. You hadn't managed to find a frilly one, the closest thing you could find to a morning, cooking apron was a barbequing one, which looked about as silly as a barbeque apron could. It was the classic "Kiss the Cook" type, but it depicted a burger screaming as it faced its untimely demise at the hand of a grinning, cartoon spatula. It was, frankly, an abomination as aprons went, but on you, it was strangely adorable. He chuckled a bit as he read the front, his hands flat against your chest as you so often did to him, only, he was having a little grope, making you squeak gently in surprise.

 

Even if the apron was abominable, he rather liked how your breasts looked, squeezed through it and pert - he just couldn't _not_ ghost his hands over the nubs of your breasts when they showed so cutely through that stupid thing. He even more appreciated the fact you had no bra on, and was certain he was dreaming - about the world before the Rising, only, you were in it this time. Lord, it was wonderful.

 

_...Cause it's witchcraft..... that crayyy-zyyyy witchcraaaaaft....._

 

"Y-Your eggs - I mean, breakfast is gonna go cold--" you giggled, flushing a bit. Honestly, you couldn't get over that moment of honesty you'd had with him in the showers last night, and figured that you could make up for it. You could afford him what he'd missed out on, and try to give him something human, because even guys like Negan needed it now and then - and the more involved you got with him, the more he craved it. He pulled you in and breathed into your hair, he smelt the delicious smell of breakfast clinging to you, and then something else - some strange series of scents like - first vanilla, then strange, leafy, musks like caraway and cinnamon - it took him a moment, but he realised you probably used some of the lady things he'd brought you. Your neck had that gentle hypnotic poison smell, the sort that you'd dress an Egyptian princess in and watch Caesar fall to his knees - it was an unusual but delicious sort of scent. Perfect for you and the allure you had always given off to him, he felt you stiffen and giggle as you felt his nose pressing deeply against you and trailing down your neck as he sloped down your body, before he gently - and unexpectedly - sank his teeth into your collarbone.

 

Fuck. That was new.

 

You felt a pang in your kneecaps - blushing as you felt him gently tugging on your flesh but not hurting it, just - the softness of his tongue on such a seldom touched area, it was enough to make you quiver. You blinked and resisted the urge to whine when he pulled away, wrapping his large, tremendous arms around your smaller body and grinning down at you, before playfully swaying. Again, you couldn't predict his silly moods - it took a moment for you to realise - but he was moving you to the music you'd stuck on for company and atmosphere.

 

"N-Negan -seriously it's gonna go cold-- what're you doing...?" you blushed, again, thrown for a loop by this man.

 

"It's good to cool a little," he glanced over you easily at the steaming dishes - noticing some of the military ration coffee had been made and set too, and playfully swayed you, like you were dancing, making you laugh helplessly.

 

"You didn't have to do all this for little old me," Negan teased, twirling you and pulling you against his chest _hard -_ before lowering one of his hands to squeeze your ass over the bow-knot you had tied with the apron strings. "But I ain't gonna lie, a man could get used to this."

 

You just blushed, and bit down on your lip slightly - you were wondering how he'd take the gesture, but he seemed to like it.

 

"I remembered what you said yesterday," you cleared your throat a little - trying to find the confidence in your voice "-about...wanting to come home to something nice and I couldnt do that for you. I... well, it was the exact opposite wasn't it? I... " you glanced away from his eyes "-I had, just from making everyone watch, made your Saviors partake in something horrible. I just wanted to give you something nice."

 

Negan didn't say anything at first, still gently moving you until _Wicked Witchcraft_ finally stopped, and _Fly Me To the Moon_ started instead, bringing you to a gentle halt.

 

"Our Saviors," he corrected after a moment of deliberation.  " _Our_ Saviors."

 

Holy shit.

 

You were in stunned silence as he pulled open your chair first, and you dumbly plonked yourself into it with no grace at all, and sat beside you, gripping a fork and digging into his scrambled eggs, you'd even forgot to be nervous, before he let out a playful, exaggerated noise, a borderline sexual moan - if you were honest, and made it sound like it was the best thing he'd ever put in his mouth. He learned from his first marriage not to forsake things like this, and you were definitely no Lucille.

 

So yeah, he was going to do better by you - or he'd sure as shit try to, anyway.

 

"So here's what is happenin' today," he said authoritatively, putting an elbow on the dinner table and gesticulating with his fork - you noticed that he was rather charismatic, and tended to speak with his entire body, usually while waving Lucille around, but in this situation, he'd even use a fork. You resisted the urge to grin - you were starting to notice all his little exclusively Negan habits.

 

"Your checkup with Carson is today," he said first, swallowing a bit of egg.  "-I'm going to radio for the priest guy, Pulp Fiction. Whatever his name was,"

 

"Gabriel," you reminded gently.

 

"Yeah, him," he grinned.  "-We're getting married, after all. And - ah, yeah, sending out the scavangers tonight, no collection. One of my guys shot a Kingdom mook when there was no fuckin' need. Now, I extended your graces to 'em - cos I figured while you were laid up, it's what you'd want,"

 

You raised a brow at him, silently digging into your eggs. Okay - that was knew. Negan didn't extend kindness to anyone without a motive, but apparantly, he'd do that on your behalf.

 

"So, I'm letting you help me pick out a new collection team, and that guy - well, he's currently crucified between Point A and B - doesn't bring their kid back, mind you, but it's delivered the message. We don't just do things without a reason. That ain't how I work, it ain't how our guys work - musta got high off the power or some shit. It happens," said Negan lazily.

 

The eggs went down your throat a little harder after that, but it was true, you probably would have had the man killed or otherwise punished extremely to show recompense. Now, whenever there was a collection, his Saviors would be reminded of the consequences of getting high off their power, and the Kingdom knew that their lives meant slightly more to him than he usually let them believe - just enough to keep them sweet, anyway.

 

"I also extended their collection time and tossed them some of our extra gas to help them with the runs, I asked Dwight how you usually handle that kinda shit. And y'know - fuck me, it worked," Negan snorted.

 

You gaped at him unattractively, rather glad you remembered to swallow before you did. Your actions actually had some palpable effect - and it was shocking to hear it right out of Negan's mouth.

 

"They didn't trust it from me so I said it was all you," he shrugged, picking up some of the steaming coffee and sipping it. Good God, soldiers really did get the good shit, it was some damn good coffee, he mused. It was a damn good breakfast too. Albeit, they didn't have toast to hand, since while there was wheat production, there wasn't much in the way of a mill happening yet - a clumsy excuse for one more like with inconsistent output, and it ordinarily would have been strange to have eggs on their own, but in the apocalypse? A little less so. He could tell with one look that you'd tried your best with everything you had given to you - he even tasted a little light herb use in his eggs. It was a damn sight better than what he had brought up to his room sometimes - then he remembered. You told him once that you used to cook.

 

It showed. They were the softest fucking eggs he'd ever had, especially for ones without milk. Damn.

 

"Thanks for the grub, sweetheart, it was really somethin'," he smiled.

 

You blushed, sloping down in the chair - feeling much like you were play-acting at being a wife, poking at the remainder of your eggs.

 

"Just eggs and coffee..." you muttered "-nothin' special. Not even any toast,"

 

You heard him get up before you bothered to raise your shy face from your plate, feeling him pull your chair out so he could raise you out of it, you blinked in confusion and felt him moving you slightly to the left, away from your plate and coffee, but pressing you into the table all the same. He hushed you in that way that would usually silence a Savior from raw fear alone, but instead, merely made you grin awkwardly - feeling his intimidating look baring down on you. Any one else, and they might have made a fresh deposit in their pants if Negan gave them that look - but not you.

 

"You're such a good girl," he drawled, making your mind spring back to the last time he said it - when you'd ...had him in your mouth and he lost control - only now he was fully in control.  "S'more than my wrinkly old ass deserves," he added with a humourless chuckle. To your confusion, he gently pushed you back on the dining table, slowly lowering you onto your back like you were being taken down by crane, your legs dangling off the side and no longer touching the ground from how short you were.

 

You stared up at him in confusion, feelng the cool oak wood of the able against your back - was he gonna kiss you like this?

 

"Uh... Negan?" confusion in your tone too - he grinned at you, wiping his lips of coffee with the back of his hand before walking between the gap your dangling legs had, and placing both hands flat, either side of your head, arching his back to lean down on you. You swallowed thickly - feeling a heat bubbling up against your skin - blushing under the sheer intensity of Negan's scheming look.

 

"And I think - that after this, it's about time I did somethin' nice for my good girl," he smirked "-besides, I'm about ready for dessert."

 

You looked at him cluelessly, before you heard the apron front crinkle, and saw Negan moving it and folding it up over onto your chest and stomach, and digging his hands into the elastic band of the Calvins, making your stomach flutter. Suddenly - you couldn't be anymore awake - and nearly bolted upright against the table if not for his gentle shushing and calming you down. You flushed, feeling your thighs get exposed to the coolness of the room and the material come down around your ankles and fall to the floor with a soft noise.

 

"Uhm - uh, w-what're you gonna do...?" you warbled out, hearing him chuckle deeply in response.

 

In all honesty, you expected his fingers again - which, after last time, you'd have gladly welcomed, feeling his large hands rubbing up your legs and gently pushing them apart, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the close scruitinisation of your lady parts in this kind of light. You felt his lips on the inside of your left thigh, raising your head up from the table and gasping from the base of your stomach, like someone had set several alarms off through your body, you flinched.

 

"O-Oh God - I mean, r-right there? Really? I've - I mean I've had a lot done to me but - n-not that - I mean - are you s-sure?" you stammered out nervously. What if he hated it? What if it just wasn't nice, what if he wasn't like you - where you had adored lapping down everything his body had to give? What if--

 

"Nn-no one's ever - I mean - "

 

Negan chuckled against your thigh, urging your thighs to stay in place with his fingers, knowing full well you could give a mean triangle choke if you wanted to - which is why he kept you leaned backward on the table with your legs over to make that a little harder.

 

"Oh, hun. I'm gonna give you _everything,"_

 

'Like a real man' being the implication that hung in the air. The rest was - well - you first felt the lick brazenly going down your front, just to get you used to the sensation - shivering as you felt his breathe against the spot he'd licked wet and made it tingle. It was like he was roving until he found something - and then you gasped, like he'd hit a livewire, and he knew he'd found your clit again - but this time, with his mouth. You felt embarrassed - until you felt it again, focusing on the soft, concentrated little centre above the entrance to your body, his tongue doing - oh fuck - you had no idea what it was doing, it was like a massage especially for the most erogenous zone your pussy had - and it had you squeaking and whimpering up to the heavens. He chuckled against you again, relishing in your noises, digging his thumbs into the muscles of your thighs before feeling you start to get wet around his tongue, and gently applied more pressure, occasionally taking breaks to torturously circle around your entrance, knowing that it was a good way to warm you up - having done something similar with his fingers. But with a tongue? Seven hells, the sensations were unreal.

 

You'd never felt so vulnerable, trusting your most abused part in the hands - in the mouth - of Negan - but it was amazing. Like he was scratching an itch you didn't even know you had, giving you a pleasure you'd never even thought of before, not properly, not like this.

 

All of your worries about him getting up close and personal and finding something he wouldn't want to put to his lips faded as between every sharp breath Negan took, he seemed to return with more gusto, his head pressing hungrily between your legs.  You could feel yourself getting so wet that it almost felt positively greasy down there and you worried about what he must be dealing with down there - and glancing down shyly, raising your back off the table, you squealed at the sight of his head moving vigorously between your thighs, the blush breaking out over the bridge of your nose as it intensified.

 

Yes, you'd actually fucking squealed - feeling him slide his tongue inside of you and start fucking you with it, pure and simple, making your toes curl instantly.

 

 _"Oh God - Oh - shit, Nn-eeg..an! It's uhh---t-too much,_ " you said, half gasping more than actually talking, your trembling fingers going into his hair and mussing it up. It was - you were embarrassed, but you could feel yourself wanting something more than his tongue and wishing he could lick that sweet spot outside and keep on fucking you with it. You knew you were going to cum, and you were just - ...nervous - was it supposed to happen? R-right there? On his face..? You didn't have much choice in the matter, bouncing your ass on the table and almost attempting to ride his fucking chin, feeling his facial hair brushing against you and groaning at the feel of it pleasurably bristling and rubbing all the right places.

 

Fuck, you were glad you told him not to shave. You felt your eyes rolling back when you came, and fully expected that to be the end of it - but no - he just kept _going._

 

_Going, going and going._

 

And you suddenly felt that powerful tremor and cramp coming up again, making your body want to seize against him, like two waves about to crash into each other - you felt your vision spot and everything change. The pleasure made you lose feeling in your arms and hands - your brain unplugging from the rest of you as you grabbed his hair harshly and all but shrieked.

 

Oh God. OH God.

 

"Nega - ah - ah w-wh--" you wanted to ask what was happening, but it happened again, this time, harder than before, you cried out, feeling him slide a finger in as your body contracted around his tongue, and felt him grinning against your thigh for a second, before charging in for that sweet spot and simultaneously using his fingers - knowing full well you were mid orgasm.

 

He didn't stop - he just kept abusing it with his mouth - licking and soothing your clit, changing the pressure, changing the strokes - adding more fingers, pumping into you harder - knowing just how to rub you the right way and accompany it with the most intimate actions he could.

 

FUCK.

 

When it happened a third time, you felt the tears springing out of your eyes, your whole body cramping with sheer, utter, Earth-shattering delight. It was like wave after wave not giving the other any time to crash, just enveloping it like an ouroborous and racking your entire body with a foreign kind of pleasure you'd never before been given. It took a moment for you to realise - but he had given you multiple orgasms, with very little space in between - and you really didn't know how your heart didn't just burst out from your chest. You were sure you said some things - shrieked them even - to high heaven. You'd screamed his name like it was going out of style, you'd called him your God, you begged him not to stop. You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure and felt yourself desperately riding his face until your body expired all energy it had and you flopped backwards onto the table, marvelling how it didn't break and merely knocked your half-drank coffee, spreading it into your hair slightly as it fanned out behind you, and you simply lay there, in a thick sheet of sweat.

 

Panting like a fucking dog, blinking tears of pleasure out of your eyes and desperate to drag oxygen back into your body.

 

Negan slowly rose up from between your legs, lips and chin shining, smirking, and easily wiping it on the back of his arm and looking down at you.

 

"H--h--ha.." he listened as you struggled to form sentences, even now, and felt an overwhelming amount of smug pride, distracting from his own, unserviced erection. He leaned down, and whispered the words that you would have forever burned into your mind as he gently pulled the apron back down over your naked body.

 

"If you're good to me, I'll be good to you back babe. That's how this works."

 

Oh. Fucking hell.

 

"Noted," was the only word you could manage, in this moment, both of you were more alive than you'd ever been.

 

* * *

 

 

If he could have lived in a moment, it should have been that one. The rest of the day was painfully clockwork, there had been the checkup with Carson - which, well, you had to be honest and say you were active, and Negan didn't bother wiping the smug smirk off of his face - which you could have clipped his ear for. Thankfully, Carson was always professional, and noted that Negan had actually gone out of his way not to do anything that he thought might aggravate the part of you that was hurt.

 

Technically, Carson said, you could have sex, in fact, considering the tear had been rectal in nature, you always could have  - but certain positions might hurt, and you were definitely too hurt to do anything near that zone in the immediate fallout. He had to say, you were coping remarkably well, and you noted some pride in his tone, because while he'd been sickened by what you'd done to Clarence, he had been infinitely more sickened by what had been done to you, and he couldn't keep the admiration out of his tone that you simply kept going. Business as usual.

 

"That's my good girl," Negan had smiled after Carson had finished, and on the outside, it looked like he was being warm with you - he might have even thought it was sweet coming from such a terrifying man, but your face instantly went cherry red, unable to shake all the dirty associations with the phrase. The leather-clad man let out a deep little laugh when he noticed your reaction - and made a mental note to do it in public a little more often.

 

He sent forward for Gabriel - but with no immediate rush. You even had time to check in with Carl, finally - who must have spoken to Rick, because he seemed to know everything that happened. Surprisingly, he judged you the least for what you said and did to Clarence - and then, you realised grimly, he admitted to sneaking in and looking at Carson's brown book, and being so sick he had to leave - because he'd been so angry. He'd left with Michonne, and come back with just...bags filled with stuff.

 

At first, you'd been confused, you didn't think this was going to go for much except as leisure items that not many women were going to go for, until you realised - he'd gotten it _for you._ An entire bag filled with makeup, shades and shades of red and pink, and some purples, some browns, and a single black. There was blush for every skin tone in there, another hand mirror, a hairbrush - you looked at him in confusion and gratitude. Carl shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets.

 

"Michonne helped me. I thought... it could cheer you up," he felt stupid immediately after he said it - but you smiled nonetheless. "But I know I can't make....that.... go away,"

 

You didn't need him to elaborate what 'that' was.

 

"You can't," you said softly, taking the bag and reaching out to touch his face with over-familiar, gentle affection. A habit that you seemed to have just enveloped straight from Negan himself, making Carl glance away from you with his working eye.

 

"But thank you Big Blue, this was really sweet."

 

"I got your special knife back," he added, rooting around his bag to show you a familiar ornate sheathe - and immediately, you felt a relief flood you. You'd been missing your kirpan a whole lot - you just had to force yourself not to think about it. He must have gone back up the highway to Shax's body - and picked it clean off of him. It was a lot of trouble to go to - and you found yourself throwing your arms gratefully around the kid's neck, feeling his skin heat up against yours. You'd slapped on some lipstick immediately, just to give him a smile with it on - and pressed your lips to his clean, pristine white gauze eyepatch.

 

He closed his eyes, and his cheeks flushed a dark shade of red that you'd never seen from him before.

 

"I figured I owed you another design, but this'll have to do for now," you said cheekily, grinning at him. When you drew your lips back - the gesture was wholly innocent, after all, and you wouldn't have been bothered if Negan saw it, because it was just so soft in nature, but it made Carl's insides knot up uncomfortably.

 

"We can get rid of Negan, you don't have to... you don't have to do these things for us. I know my dad is making you, and you don't have to, I swear,"

 

At the idea of getting rid of Negan, your heart plummeted, and you found yourself giving Carl a severe look.

 

"Big Blue...Carl, sweetie. I appreciate everything you do for me, I appreciate our friendship too - but God, you can not say stuff like that to me. It is going to be a long time before I feel _forced_ to do anything like that for any man and I don't appreciate the insinuation. I'm a big girl. I made my own choice, and we've had this conversation. You know what happens," you sighed.

 

Carl looked genuinely annoyed, maybe even angry - but strangely, hurt.

 

"But it's... he's a monster!" he snarled.

 

You gave him a sad sort of look, lips twitching into a morose kind of smile.

 

"Hun, I ain't much better - you didn't _see_ what I did to Clarence enough to agree with it. Negan is about all I deserve and - " you saw him out the corner of your eye, and felt something warm spreading through your chest, a sort of life glistening in your eyes at the sight of him, a palpable electric sort of passion in the air that even Carl only needed one eye to see.  "-and that's more than okay for me,"

 

He stood still as you left him, and watched as you threw your arms around the man's neck - and vowed to talk to his dad - because there was just so much he didnt understand. He watched as you were taken away, and you went about your business side by side, and very often - your fingers locking together. He almost couldn't stand the sight.

 

So he left for a while, to clear his head.

 

Next item on the agenda was a new collection team - which you picked by hand with Negan. There weren't choices you disagreed with, but you surprised him when you insisted on Maritza - a woman who was rather old and perhaps the only other maternal figure in the Compound, whose main role was keeping the kitchens running, because - you said - there was plenty of brawn, but not a single person with any ounce of leadership skill nor the ability to be warm and responsive.

 

"If you don't want another incident like the one in the Kingdom, you let Maritza head it. If it doesn't work out, feel free to rub it in my face," you shrugged.

 

"Mmmn... done deal," said Negan after a moment "-but only if I decide your punishment if you lose,"

 

You scoffed - what, was he going to put his wife in the box? You looked at him warily, and just saw him smirk. It had happened that way - nonetheless, Maritza was made the head and you cycled through the rest of the day easier enough. You even were able to convince him to let you on the truck when it rolled out into the second housing district, though, you all had to take food because the drive out and drive back would be so lengthy that Simon and Dwight would have to take turns driving from how far out both of you had to go.

 

It seemed to be obvious that you two were closer now than ever before, the electricity between the two of you was now suffocating. You got business done certainly, none of you stopped being any less efficient, and what you'd done to Clarence rang out like a bell. A clear signal that, despite whatever turmoil you were in, despite whatever the power dynamic was, there was a line and it would not be crossed and that you had all of the power to enforce your will. Just as much as Negan had, and - God, clearly you had some unique set of skills that not only allowed you to be intellectually valuable, but you could do things to a person that not many would have a beginner's inkling how to do. Powerful. Sacrificial.

 

Yet you were still a young woman, a young woman who wanted normal things that they wanted - and yet you seemed to find the things that you wanted and needed in Negan of all people. The seething, tangible annoyance from you when he spoke to Maritza in a manner which would be deemed as slightly flirtatious but utterly Negan - in truth it wasn't anything to worry about but...

 

If Simon could detect it, he didn't know how Negan didn't - but you let loose on him the moment he was next to you, when he was in your space - you grabbed him by his slender waist and pulled. Hard. He grinned - and you wondered for a second, if he'd done it on purpose, but he bristled in surprise when he felt you grab him quite publically. Noticeably - it didn't bother him, but so far, you'd only really done it in private or discreetly and left the handprint to show it. What he didn't expect, was you to grab a fistful of his arse with both hands, pressing your waist against his and looking up with a mixture of dominance and annoyance.

 

"Okay I get it, you made your Carl point," you bit out.

 

Negan raised a brow, glancing over to Maritza's retreating figure to the D-Truck and then at you - the pieces now visibly connecting for him, and he snorted.

 

"Didn't actually mean to, did I make you jealous?" he teased you - with that stupid, sexy mouth of his, and you'd wished you were his height, just so you could have shut him up the way he'd silenced you at breakfast. He felt the greediness of your grabbing and couldn't honestly help but feel like hot shit when you did that - so much so that he didn't even care about the poorly smothered looks he was getting from his men.

 

"Can I take your little game of ass grab to mean that's a yeah?" he pushed, when you just let out an annoyed growl.

 

"I didn't know I needed an excuse to play grab-arse," you retorted, skillfully ducking what was an obvious 'yes' to Negan's question.

 

"You don't," Negan agreed with a smile as you leaned your face against his chest, your cheek pressed against the flat of his jacket. He had to admit - it was probably one of the things that he enjoyed you doing the most, it highlighted the height difference between you and the neediness of it made him feel wanted, just as much as you reaching out to cop a feel. "But am I right?"

 

You made an annoyed sound against him, causing his chest to rise and fall with steadily laughter as you leaned against him.

 

"Shit, you're a possessive little thing, ain't ya?" he chortled, making you scoff, lean back and reluctantly let go of his arse, placing one hand next to your ear to mimic a classic phone, the other at your hip and give him a sarcastic reply in perhaps the sassiest tone he'd heard from you in a while.

 

"Oh, Hello Pot, this is Kettle, I was just calling to inform you that you're black," you deadpanned.

 

Okay, Negan admitted, he probably deserved that - and he was pretty sure he heard Simon smother a snort behind his sleeve, but maintain a look of nonplussed calm when he snapped his head around to look at him and give him a cold, silencing glare. Eventually, the banter stopped so that you could go into the truck and prepare for a long ride. You wondered, briefly, why Negan bothered to partake in the scavenge when he had a legion of mooks to do that for him spanning several communities, but he revealed it was so that he didn't become soft and unprepared behind the walls of safety. He reminded you gently that, everybody could lose everything in a heartbeat no matter how long it took to build, that's what happened during The Rising first time. In order to stay a sharp leader, it was better that he engaged with everything around him, and didn't allow the walkers to fall on the backburner of things he didn't worry about.

 

"See, we ain't all quite like you and Carl and younger kids who're gonna be raised in this shitshow. There's a point where it becomes second nature to you because your experience in the new world dwarfs the old one, but for people that worked in the world long before it fell to shit, it is so easy to fall back into a pattern where we trick ourselves and make like the world ain't a crap-basket, we lower our guard because we think it's safe, and then we lose everything we work for. Shit, babe. In four years, I came close to that shit and I learned from it, other people - ain't so lucky," he explained.

 

"Yeah," you agreed quietly. "I guess I've kinda seen that flitting in and out of groups where everyone was way older than me. People, even after all this time, are desperate for things to back to how they remember it. I mean, I still have plenty of memories, so I feel like that too sometimes. Occasionally. So I can't imagine what it's like for... older people."

 

You felt his fingers going through your hair, and much of the truck ride had massive quiet periods from how long it took. The drivers switched out, and Simon was asleep in a sleeping bag - which, privately you thought made him look like a weird, moustachioed little caterpiller and muttered as much, making Dwight snort and Negan grin a little. If you had a pen, he had no doubt you probably would have drawn on Simon's face - because the dislike you had for him was fairly obvious, enough that he actually found it a little funny and mostly juvenile, because it was. 

 

And personally, Simon hadn't forgiven you for calling his moustache gay, so there was that.

 

You turned back to Negan, sighing against him - you weren't sleeping yet, and it seemed that since breakfast, you two had gotten so close you might have been joint to the hip, you couldn't control this urge to want to be in his space constantly, to touch him constantly, to want him constantly. It seemed that after Carson's checkup, it was a given that you two were going to have sex, but neither of you had addressed it since the doctor trip, it just seemed to be an expectant thing that hung in the air and made you clench with anticipation. If Negan was excited, he was doing a good job of appearing calm and well-paced, and seemed to be happy to do anything and everything in between before fully engaged in sex with him. It seemed to be a good choice too - albeit an unintentional one, because it mounted the passion and the excitement and gently needled at your sense of shame and the hangups that the horrible bastards in the bayou had given you.

 

Negan took this moment of intimate quiet to talk to you, even though Simon was asleep and Dwight was driving. He offered to put the music on low so as not to wake Simon and give you some privacy - but you waved it off. You were, admittedly, warming to the guy and didn't find yourself minding too much if he paid attention to what you and Negan talked about.

 

"Way back, when I first found you - I asked you how many of the bayou assholes there were, you said somewhere around a hundred, discounting nursing women and kids, and then later - that....there were no children in the bayou anymore," it was something that bugged him - he could understand you lying initially, because you two hadn't been friends and he'd pretty much kidnapped you, but now? He needed to know everything about that group, and had to clear up inconsistencies.

 

You sighed.

 

"Alright, we had kids, from the airport - anyway. We brought them with us the bayou when we landed. They were allowed - I remember thinking how weird it was that there were no kids when there were that many men and women stuck in one place,"

 

Negan fell quiet, rhythmically stroking your hair as you spoke.

 

"There was one other birth I remember in my time there that went okay - but then... I mean - we didn't have a doctor, and there..." you felt a lump settle in your throat, the hum of the engine didn't even relax you like it usually did, you sighed, and drew your eyes shut in a pinched expression of discomfort. He almost hated that he made you remember, but he needed to know.

 

"This woman - Lauren, she - she was having a kid, and we thought - Evelyn thought... we could deal with it. 'Cos we did it before. Humans have been doing it for centuries, long before hospitals and epidurals and stuff - we thought it would be okay,"

 

You sucked in a breath.

 

"But then it wasn't okay."

 

He almost regretted asking - but he did as he always did. He pushed, and he pushed and he pushed - and Dwight could feel himself getting a little queasy listening, and tempted himself with the radio, but at the same time, was deeply invested in finding out more, these bayou folk were a different animal, and he could tell why Negan needed to know what he was pushing so hard for.

 

"We... we knew that it doesn't matter how you die, when you die, it just happens, but sometimes you hope - or you forget. And you just... you think--"

 

Negan lifted you onto his lap gently, and wrapped his large arms around your front and tucked them under your breasts, pushing his face into your hair and breathing you in deeply, he wasn't too good at comfort, but he was trying - and he knew he was good at physicality when it came to you, and that you saught affection this way, so he could do that. It was low effort on his part, and something he knew he couldn't go wrong with - where he wouldn't say the wrong thing. Usually, he gave no fucks about saying the wrong thing but, with you - it mattered.

 

Everything mattered with you.

 

"Lauren was fine - she was okay, and it came out - the baby - with its eyes squeezed shut, covered in so much blood I couldn't -I thought it was normal, it was like last time. I cut the cord with a sterilised pen knife, and I waited for it to cry - like Rayya's child did, and then I waited some more - and then I wiped the blood off of it - because Lauren cried to hold her - so I gave her - and she didn't..."

 

Negan even felt himself getting a bit queasy now, not an easy feat, but he felt this mounting ball of dread getting larger and larger the more you spoke.

 

"It made a noise and we were so happy, but it wasn't crying - it just kept opening and closing its little toothless mouth and its eyes - it didn't... we lied. We knew it didn't have a heartbeat, and so did she, but she kept it with her anyway," you felt the nausea sweeping you, the words you had said, hitting him once more.

 

.... _I_ _f you could know and see the kind of things that I participated in, in New Orleans, none of you would dare to make the mistake that Clarence has made tonight...._

 

And yet some dreadful part of him suspected it was the tip of the iceberg, hell, he knew that it was. Your tone had implied a deep and almost mystical level of human depravity, sacrifice which far stretched what was necessary to live, ancient and tribal almost, like they'd truly succumb to more feral rule than even his Saviors - he could tell that much when he noticed in the beginning how little you cared for your own nakedness.

 

"And then, over weeks. It starts to smell, but it's so small - and it's so fragile, nobody can - God, it's...forever a newborn, always. Lauren she - I think she knew, but she couldn't stop holding it - not until its little fingers started to come apart and it wouldn't grow teeth, she couldn't breastfeed, there was nothing for her. She came to the Professor and - well, we both looked at enough morturary science by then to know for sure. So, one night - she - she tries to take care of it, but she can't. She talks to Evelyn, who doesn't have the stomach for it - so she turns to me and she says..."

 

You shuddered.

 

"You delivered her. It should be you," feeling your eyes get suspiciously warm. Fuck, why was this so hard? It had been ages now, and a necessary evil, but you could still remember. You'd always remember. Your voice broke, warbling slightly as you swallowed audibly and did your best to keep firm. You felt him move his large arms so they squeezed you tightly, and felt his heart beating steadily against your back, jumping a little more in dread and anticiption.

 

"I took it's little head - its neck was so small - and it was so rotten I didn't need... I didn't need anything. I tried, I was going to be gentle. I tried to put him to sleep but he was so _small and so weak,_ all it took was one accidental little twist and he came apart. Like a doll," you balked physically now, like you were trying hard not to be sick.

 

You heard Dwight curse, and Negan follow, before he pushed his nose against the back of your head and almost seemed to bounce you gently in his lap in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, it was nice, like being rocked - but it did little to soothe the sickness you felt.

 

"And it was over. Just like that. I remember Lauren just...snatching him off me, piece for piece and walking out into the night. I didn't see her again - for a while anyway,"

 

Somehow, Negan still had it in him to push.

 

"And when you did?" the dread however, was uncharacteristically palpable, but Dwight couldn't blame him. Not one bit. You couldn't even call this weakness, this was just.... this was proof that God was well and truly dead, if nothing else.

 

"She buried herself alive with him. I don't know how she managed it. I think she just laid in a hole until it filled with rain and it stormed and it filled with branches and leaves and shit. She just laid there, and she waited to die. She wasn't a rotter, neither. She had a really....a really thick branch going through her skull - so when the storm hit I guess it just... I don't know. She was dead."

 

There was silence for a long time, until you broke it.

 

"So Evelyn said no children in the bayou. Ever. And so there wasn't. If someone got pregnant, they'd get taken into a room and... and then they wouldn't be pregnant anymore when they came out," you cringed. In truth, you never found out what happened in that room, and you didn't want to know, the implication was enough.

 

Negan actually shuddered, because he had a clear visual, and knew in his heart that he had to know if you had ever been taken into that fucking hellscape. He needed to - even if he was sure it was going to push him over the edge, or break what little of his heart there actually was.

 

"Sweetheart, I think I need...I need you to tell me if they ever took you in that room," there was no confident way for Negan to deliver that question, and it was the most unsure that Dwight had ever heard him sound, but given the nature of it, he didn't think he could criticise it.

 

There was a silence in the truck again, and Dwight found it fucking unbearable, he found himself winding the window down - as if the cold air would possibly fucking help, and Negan could feel his own breathing constrict, feeling like the sensation of pure dread had him in a complete vice-grip. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything like that, ever.

 

 _'Yeah',_ he mused - _'I must be in really deep to feel like this.'_

 

The question he posed to you had many others attatched to it, it was a way of floating if you'd ever been made pregnant from all the horror that took place there, and if they'd ever hurt you - if you had been pregnant, you had so many scars that it was hard to tell where skin might have stretched, and you had trained your body with the rigor of an athlete, so hard-line muscles made it so you didn't look like many other women. Carson had yet to produce a full record for you, beyond care he himself had given, but eventually, he would - if it had long-term effect on your health. He knew Carson had craved to ask you this too during the checkup, but didn't have the heart to ask, so he hadn't.

 

"No," you felt Negan sag with relief as you leaned on him, and ploughed on, even if it felt like your teeth may as well have been glass shards, hurting and cutting your mouth, making it pour with blood as you confessed to a disgusting, bloodbath of a life before him.

 

_He's my....'husband'....fiancee? He's...he's mine, and I have to tell him._

 

"I mean, there was a time I missed my period once - and we waited for some months but it didn't happen," you blurted out, despite Dwight being there. "It got the Major pretty angry - he slapped the shit out of me for a second like I did it on purpose or something, and um... I don't... I don't remember what happened after that. I just remember being given this horrible.... I don't know what. It smelled like bleach and sulfur and it tasted like ass," you confessed, your cheeks flushing.

 

"He said it was medicine and I was fourteen or fifteen so... I mean, I guess I believed it,"

 

Negan felt kind of sick.

 

"He said it'd fix it and... I remember going to the bathroom and... there was so much blood so I guess it did. Like, more than normal, and I passed out against a stall - Professor Mattius had to get me - I um... we didn't talk about it. Not properly. He just... he was there for me. I think. Like what dad's are supposed to do I guess. I think I saw him cry. I don't think he liked the Major very much. But not a lot of people did. I don't know If I was... um.. I just... I try not to think about it. There's a lot of things I just don't think about anymore."

 

Negan squeezed you, and silenced you finally.

 

"Okay," he said authoritatively, before swallowing the strange lump that had gathered in his throat.

 

 _Fucking hell, you'd been a little girl. You'd been a little girl and all of this had happened to you?  How much horror was left unsaid?_ He knew you didn't tell him much, initially, you'd faught him tooth and nail just so you wouldn't have to tell him anything whatsoever about the Louisiana Bayou.

 

"Okay, baby girl. That's enough. I don't need to know anymore. Not tonight, I'm uh," he said something that, in any other situation, would have made Dwight do a double-take, but now? He was just staring morose and dead-eyed on the road, squeezing the steering wheel so hard his knuckles changed colour. There was only so much a man could stomach, and Dwight was definitely softer than Negan, and a lot more in touch with his emotions than he'd readily admit.

 

"I'm sorry," said Negan quietly.

 

You just shrugged against him in a manner he found too blasé for something that was disgusting him from head to toe and if he wasn't already holding you, he'd had squeezed the life out of you. It was an unfamiliar feeling  to give this much of a damn, but he loved it, he wanted to, even if it was hurting him right now, as he felt you shudder in his grip - he was reminded, painfully, that you were worth it. He found out just how much you were worth when Shax had taken you. He knew better. He wanted to feel for you. So he did, even if it was suffering.

 

He was Negan. He could handle anything. You were a little girl at the time, and had no option. He wanted to ask what your mother had done during all this, but chances were, you were probably keeping her protected if what you said about the elderly people being abandoned in the swamp was anything to go by. It made a sickening amount of sense in his head if he put himself in the Major's shoes, and suddenly, he fucking ached, knowing how kind, good and decent you were, he could tell you would be the type to sit there and let yourself be abused for years if it meant keeping someone you loved safe.

 

Before he met you, he'd have called it being hungry to suffer and die, the ultimate weakness, but now that he'd met you - it was easily the opposite. It was perhaps, the strongest sort of sacrifice a human could do for another, and you were anything but weak.

 

"It's not the worst thing. I had some good memories too - I mean, not everyone was like the Major. Some people in The Rising, they didn't even have the luxury of good memories, or any even fleeting kind of happiness. I know I had it bad. But it could always be worse. I learned that the hard way. When you think people can't make it worse. They can, and they do. So yeah," you said lamely.

 

Negan, for lack of better word, was cradling you, and eventually, he was kissing every spot he could reach.

 

"If I see that man, I'm murdering the shit out of him," he said resolutely, and nobody in the truck could do anything except strongly agree. Some people just needed to die.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Surprisingly, Negan stayed in the truck with you - when Dwight and Simon left with the other scavengers in other vehicles, it left you, and it left Negan - who usually led the charge. He stayed there, laying down on the truck floor now, with you on top of him, your back on his chest, his arms around you. It was intimate, but distinctly non-sexual, and he'd moved from leaning on the truck wall to do so once Simon was up and left to provide the space to do so.

 

_These sicks sons of bitches I'm going to kill 'em dead. I'm gonna fuckin' tenderise them. I'm going to fuckin' pull off their fingernails one by fuckin' one and make them eat them. I'm going to burn them alive. I'm gonna drown them. I'm gonna fuck them up. They did - God - EVERYTHING to.....fuck, my poor girl, my poor good little girl. Mine. They - FUCK - I'm going to just ---_

 

His angry stream of thought was cut off when you rolled off of him to change positions, and moved forward to kiss him gently on the mouth, leaving him breathing out behind a half-lidded and strangely vulnerable, distinctly un-Negan stare.

 

"My strong, good girl," you felt his hands on your face, gently soothing you - as though trying to reassure you that you weren't as bad as you knew yourself to be, because of what you shared with him tonight. You appreciated the sentiment, but some feelings wouldn't scrub off, and yet, your heart felt like it was sprawling out and open through your chest and torso with every soft, gentle, un-Negan gesture he was doing. "My fuckin' hot, crazy-strong, sexy, good, amazing girl. I'm gonna kill those guys dead, I swear. I'll kill 'em fuckin' dead."

 

You found yourself giggling weakly, a sadness reflective in your dark eyes despite it, however dark the subject matter - it was still sweet. You had to admit. Negan strengthened his voice, he was firm, and so was his soft hold of your face, like he was trying to shake sense into you - because he was not one for empty promises.

 

"I fuckin' mean it," you saw the fire burning deeply behind his eyes and for a moment you were lost in it.

 

"I'm gonna marry the shit outta you. I'm gonna kill 'em all dead. We're gonna leave 'em in our dust. They're all going to die,"

 

You felt your heart skip several beats from his tone - and felt him kiss you with slightly more aggression than you expected, gently tugging at your lower-lip as he did so, actually leaving it a little swollen and your lungs struggling for air as you hadn't seen it coming.

 

"Help me try and make your ass happy. I don't know what to do, I'll be fuckin' honest with you. My last marriage was a mess and I thought I loved the shit outta Lucille, I truly did. And I still fucked it up. I don't know that I got words for what's happenin' right now so please don't make me fuckin' try - it's... harder and... more full on than anythin' I've ever had before and I don't know what I have to do to keep a woman happy and I mean actually happy - not just from givin' a good lay," he was rather blunt about it, and seemed to be asking that you don't ask him to possibly get any mushier than this because he didn't know how to deal with it, even at his age.

 

You swallowed thickly.

 

"Tell me if I do somethin' that hurts you cos I am so outta touch with that shit sometimes that...fuck man, dumb shit just falls outta my mouth sometimes, like with Maritza. I don't wanna be an asshole - not to you anyway - so steer me right. Don't let me do whatever I did to fuck up what I had last time, 'cos I don't think I've ever wanted somethin' so bad in my life and I am gonna fuckin' kick my own ass if I let this go tits up," he said.

 

"You deserve better, you should have had better, and I'm gonna try and give it to ya, but I need you to help me honey, I am so fuckin' lost," Negan confessed - you stared deeply at him, and realised, much to your shock, that there was a very light, barely unnoticable shade of pink under all of his facial hair - shit, maybe he should shave it, you mused. His blush, though rare, was very cute - and he had a good jaw line, maybe it wouldn't be so weird. "I'm in new territory here, and shit... I'm what, your first that's not actually a rapey fuckin' dickhead?"

 

You nodded shyly.

 

"So no pressure then," Negan snorted "-I need to do right by you, because fuckin' hell baby girl, I am so goddamn stuck on you it ain't even funny," he complained. You couldn't help but laugh stiffly at the return to that old phrase, as he showed his age again. It was a sorely needed laugh after what you'd just spoken about, even if it felt forced - and it was perhaps the worst time, with Negan baring it all out like that - not something he was known for doing.

 

"I just said it ain't funny, I'm stuck on you like a fuckin' white on rice," he really did sound like he was complaining now, even though he was trying to be romantic (trying being the operative word here) - and you felt that sprawling warmth and relief in your body intensify.

 

_He doesn't think I'm a monster._

 

_He still wants me._

 

_He'll forgive all of my...nasty. Even if I combed through memory after memory, he'd still forgive it._

 

You felt that warmth in your eyes persist, but you didn't cry, you just found yourself smiling even if it was stretched and tight, and rolled back on top of him, sighing into his neck, replying with something that made every organ in Negan's body feel like it just got electrocuted, while simultaneously making his heart want to fall out of his body and clench every limb he had around you in something he couldn't describe. It had been a long time since anyone had ever said it to him, and it showed.

 

"I love you too," you replied cheekily.

 

Negan couldn't breathe for a second, it was a jokey response to his half-whines, but the truth of it was there, he could feel it. He couldn't find a logical reply - and moved your body atop his, finding himself reaching for every spot he could reach - he was kissing you, or rather your body, pulling down your shirt just to kiss more of you, then going up your neck - and your face. You wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't happening, it was nauseatingly wonderful, and you were certain you were going to wake up in your bed alone, having dreamed it.

 

But you weren't, he was like passion incarnated into one person, everything he felt, he felt in excess. Excess violence, excess greed, excess ambition, excess desire, excess arousal, excess happiness - he was an overdose of every powerful emotion put into the body of one incredibly powerful man and now, he couldn't hold it in, so he kissed on you. All over you. Everywhere he could reach before it would resemble anything sexual, he didn't know what it was, but he wanted to abate the feeling inside of him that your words had given him, and he found himself wanting to do nothing but kiss you.

 

So that's what he did.

 

Even as the truck doors open and Dwight put on the CD playlist on low just so he wouldn't have to concentrate on the noises. Simon admittedly stared for a moment, he thought honestly that you two might have just fucked in the truck right then and there, but instead, all he saw was a dopey sort of smile on your face, and Negan aggressively kissing everywhere he could reach, and by the time Simon came in, he was rolling up your sleeves just to kiss along up your arms.

 

"O-oh bloody hell, I'm not gonna complain but I don't know what I did to deserve all this," you said in breathless amusement, finally able to shake off the memory of Lauren, at least, for a while.

 

Negan stopped, and then smirked at you - having left a few bruises on you unnoticed by you - when he'd sank his teeth in very gently and broke blood vessells in places you hadn't noticed, covering you in love bites that you only realised you had when you glanced at your inner arm.

 

"You don't need to do shit, you deserve it all, got it?" said Negan bluntly - throwing you for six, before pulling you by the collar - and settling back in on your mouth, making you turn into butter against his body, every limb relaxing like it had slid into a hot, welcoming, warm bath, except it was his arms - and his body, and it was all for you.

 

"Yes sir!" you managed - before he swept you in his mouth, the romantic tension only broken when Simon finally spoke, groaning from the seat opposite Dwight, daring and testing the comraderie he had with his boss who, on a whim, he was keenly aware, would kill him if he annoyed him enough.

 

"Oh, get a room!" Simon groaned.

 

 

 

 


	16. Swing for Me, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dont forget to review - a bit more happens, we've got a little Bayou action ;o
> 
> IN THE NEXT chapter following this, we get some memories, some bonding, and some questioning. Stay tuned folks!

 

Daryl felt a strange trust that he couldn’t pinpoint when he had been let out, you had been true to your word, he had a new box, and he got fed better – and let out, and he didn’t stew in his own waste anymore. Dwight actually spoke to him, and they weren’t friends by any means, but he seemed to feel better than he didn’t have to be Daryl’s jailor anymore. Now, Daryl hated this guy, understandably, so he was knocked for six when he felt a strange, palpable relief from Dwight when he opened the box and said that was it. He was free.

 

At first, he thought it was a joke, and naturally, there was strings attached – but no joke. You stood beside Dwight, dressed more strangely than he’d last seen you. He blinked slowly and stared at you, seeing your dark skin shine under the sun, highlighting the inordinately powerful body that frankly, he thought, he was seeing a lot of. Not that he was complaining, per se, he just didn’t expect to be face to face with someone in a tight little red and white number.

 

You’d grinned, hopping into the box with a very short little white skirt that rode up your thick, hardened thighs every time you walked. For a moment, Daryl thought he was in a very odd dream, sitting on his legs and finding himself almost face height with the hard lines of your abdominals, he had about enough sense not to drag his eyes anywhere else. He also noticed all the little marks all over your body, some on your legs, one on your thigh, all up your arms, but mostly on your neck, and the peek of one on your collarbone. It was a lot of bruises to have, he mused.

 

“You’ve done your stretch little bird, it’s time to come out,” you said cheerfully. Daryl winced as he stumbled to his feet, feeling hot, stagnant air come into the box, it was fresher of course, but it was fucking boiling outside, and very quickly, your outfit started to make sense. It was perhaps the hottest day in Virginia since the 50s, reaching about 112 Fahrenheit if Dwight’s car temperature reader on the way back had been anything to go by. There wasn’t enough AC in the world to deal with this day. Which, doing the math in your head was probably somewhere-in-the-40s-degree-celsius.

 

Needless to say, the dead had smelt worse than usual – and it was very quickly robbing you of wanting to do anything sexy whatsoever. You did, however, find clothes that actually fit you – and insisted on not actually showing them to Negan, because you thought it’d be a funny surprise, and a call back to his teaching days or at the very least, his college ones. For Daryl however, it was just plain strange, he ignored it though and stretched out into the sweltering sun and immediately shed the stinking “A” shirt to wrap it around his waist. He wasn’t the only one, Saviors had started rolling up their trousers or even just wearing shorts, leaving their jackets, or tying them around their bodies, just plain sweating.

 

You however, were delightfully cool. Your shirt was a very thin, tight one with faded ironed on initials for VMA – Virginia Military Academy which ended around the breasts and was quite clearly a cheerleader’s outfit, hence why it was showing quite so much flesh. As skimpy as it was, it was designed for pure athleticism, and if it’s one thing that Daryl Dixon could tell, it was that you were definitely an athlete, with a more defined back and torso than even he had, even if his arms were much thicker by virtue of dimorphism and simply being a man.

 

You’d slept naked beside Negan that night, who couldn’t blame you, it was so hot and sticky that he’d kicked the bedsheets off and he too, was naked. He wanted to tangle his limbs with yours but the body heat alone sounded unbearable. Both of you tossed and turned and you’d even gotten a fan working – which was the only way you two got any sleep.

 

You woke up early to train the next day, and he simply groaned -

 

“Too hot,” and went back to sleep, leaving you to deal with the Daryl situation.

 

In short, Negan hadn’t laid eyes on you when he finally woke up to start the day when it tapered off to a slightly more sensible 90* Fahrenheit, which still meant that it was skin-meltingly hot. Daryl blinked at the size of the sledgehammer on your back, and then the shining, ornate, almost Arabian looking sort of knife sheathe you possessed at your hip - before noticing the tight, thin line of underwear pulled up along the indentation of V-line created by your abdominals. When he realised he'd been staring - mostly out of curiosity - he quickly diverted his eyes, feeling Saviors watch him as he blindly followed you, his eyes wandering to every part of the unfamiliar compound.

 

"Where are we goin'?" Daryl's voice was rough, like gravel - like he hadn't spoken in a while, and he probably hadn't. You just glanced backwards at him and grinned - guiding him to the male communals.

 

"You're getting a cold shower and some clothes that don't stink like shit, and then it's all you little bird. I could take you to Mr Grimes and his family, they're staying here, and you can stay over there until the ride outs in the morning and get dropped off at Hilltop or The Kingdom, or you can just leave and start walking. Ain't nobody gonna stop you," you said with a little shrug. "You got the royal pardon,"

 

Daryl looked at you in confusion, brows furrowed, as though he was still waiting for this to be a joke, at least until the showers came into sight.

 

"Why?"

 

You waved your hand to wave off the question, and waited expectently for him to take his clothes off, inadvertantly channeling Negan when he first met you, leaning against the shower entry way with your arms folded under your chest.

 

"You sure ask a lotta questions little bird, I'd just be grateful if I were you. I didn't think I'd be able to swing it, but since we have Neck-Curtain - err -Eugene, working for us, and the Grimes family on sight, it seemed a little bit redundant to keep you in The Box - and you were in there before and after I did my stint. So I thought it was getting a bit overkill. I do my best to try to keep that man rational," you rolled your eyes, like you were discussing the weather.

 

The idea of keeping Negan rational seemed like trying to be Atlas, holding up the fucking world, especially as Daryl still had the fresh images of all his friends getting a sharp kiss from Lucille, playing in his mind.  When it became apparant that he was very slow with the idea of taking off his trousers, you sighed and turned around, not really caring much.

 

"You look about Aaron-sized, I'll be back with something fresh for you to wear, decide what you want to do in the mean time, yeah?" you said shortly. The brooding, largely silent bit wasn't one that you were particularly keen on dealing with, the weather was, admittedly, making you a lot less patient than usual.

 

"Wait - who're you?" Daryl asked, calling out for you as you began to make down the communal's corridor.

 

"Deadshot," you said shortly, leaving the man to his thoughts. He'd probably be a mess for a while, you mused. Not everyone was like you, The Box was different for a lot of people, compared to what you'd endured before, it had been a vacation, but you understood for Daryl that it was basically weeks upon weeks in solitary - down in the hole with nothing but the story Rick had told you playing out in his head over and over again.

 

You had to admit, you felt a little bad, and now that Negan needed the Alexandrian's on side - that night, when you struggled to sleep, he admitted that at least for pragmatic purposes, he regretted killing quite so many of their inner circle.

 

Which was about as close to remorse as Negan got, you supposed. When you came back, the man looked infinitely less greasy, and you'd gotten him a tank top and some awkward cut-offs that he was able to pull off more than Aaron did, much to your surprise, and found that he wanted to see Rick. Which, again, didn't surprise you much, so you walked him over to the home, pounding on the door loudly with so much casualness that Daryl had to wonder if he was in some strange kind of play, where everybody else had the script except him. What exactly had happened at the Compound while he was in The Box?

 

Rick opened the door - and his mouth fell open slightly, staring at Daryl with relief, joy, and anguish mixed in one. He'd completely looked over your head when he opened the door, and to your surprise, threw his arms around the man's shoulders in the most abrupt, masculine sort of hug you'd ever seen. In fact, you half expected them to shoulder-bump. He actually laughed with relief - seeing that Daryl was alive, and okay.

 

"You're finally out - thank God - " Rick breathed, letting him go before you cleared your throat. He finally snapped his attention to you - and drank in your choice of attire - but considering the rings of sweat around his neck and under arms - even with the buttons down and sleeves rolled up, he couldn't really fault you for it. Especially if he considered how physically active you were, which, after walking past the training grounds in the past, he'd seen first hand.

 

"You did it, I - thank you, thank you so much," Rick blurted out, unable to stop himself - confusing Daryl further, who was glancing between the pair of you with an inscrutable look on his face. You held your hand up to signal that he could stop thanking you, and sighed.

 

"This doesn't even scratch the surface, nothing is going to make up for what Negan took from you. I know that. But if I can at least do this.... it's something," you breathed out, a hint of bitterness in your tone. If only you'd been kidnapped sooner, you thought darkly.

 

Rick sloped down so he was at height with you, placing his hands firmly on your shoulders, the way he used to talk to Carl when he was younger - you supposed it was your height that made him a bit more misplaced-paternal, and the fact he had some inkling of what you went through, but you didn't fight it. Honestly, patronising though it was, a big part of you thought that...it was kinda sweet.

 

"I mean it. I know what you've had to do. I know - all I've done is ask, and take, and take and take - from you. I promise you, that stops now. I just - our people. Our people needed this, thank you," he squeezed your shoulders and immediately felt how powerful they were, before raising himself to full height and letting you both into the house properly.

 

"What's goin' on? Why did she - why did you let me go?" said Daryl, puzzled, looking at you. You shrugged.

 

"Told you, I do my best to keep Negan rational, and anyways, pointless suffering and death - it kinda pisses me off," you said flatly, as though that somehow explained everything. "I'll let Mr Grimes fill you in,"

 

"DARYL!" you flinched - it was the first time you'd actually heard Carl shout, except for when Shax dragged you off - but this was a lot closer, and made your hand fly for your ornate sheathe before immediately relaxing around it, neither man missed the speed of the reflex, but neither commented. Carl bolted down the steps, and his shout had attracted Michonne, who'd come down too - you honestly felt like you were encroaching on some strange family reunion and felt more and more like you didn't belong as Daryl was warmly received from both sides.

 

That was your sign to leave, so you did - only for Carl to glance at you with his working eye - it widening considerably, and now stuck between glancing at Daryl, and then you, and then Daryl again. You resisted the urge to snort, and simply turned tail to leave.

 

"I'll be here in the morning to wake you up if you decide to leave. I guess you could stay at the Compound too, but you'd get a job assignment, and I'd have thought with a choice, you probably wouldn't want to be anywhere near Negan, but I'll be here to get you up for the truck leave if you choose to go little bird,"

 

Rick raised a brow at the name, but didn't push it - as Daryl had simply not bothered either. It was a name that was entirely too gentle for the kind of man that he looked like and was, and was wholly unfitting, yet there wasn't much hint of mockery in it. Something about your bouncy, silly tones calling him 'Little Bird' in that accent of yours just made it feel strangely acceptable to him, so he let it happen. You just left, feeling like, despite Rick's words to you in Carson's office, that you did not belong here, and that you had made a choice already, even if Rick said he considered you one of his despite whatever happened.

 

So you just left, but not before you heard Daryl rasping out through his confused, but relieved tones.

 

"Thank you,"

 

You waved it off just as dismissively as you'd done before, and shut the door behind you. This wasn't going to make the Alexandrian's forgive what was taken from them, not one bit, but it could at least lessen the urge to revolt, which is the last thing anybody needed. It was, despite the weather, business as usual, and it was probably worse for munitions, so you had actually dragged the biggest fans you could find which worked with mindblowingly little electricity, thankfully. It had made you perhaps the most popular person of the day, as they became reminded that you were not just the person who balanced out Negan or committed that horrible atrocity the days previous, but that you had a formidable mind, and were uniquely skilled.

 

When you went back to the house, it was no surprise Negan was gone, but you were just a little disappointed, and started instead to try to figure out all of the makeup that Carl and Michonne had gotten you. It was probably hot enough for a lot of it to melt off, you mused - and after smearing eyeliner literally everywhere, you washed it clean off and just gave up, picking a shade of red from the many piles, and looking at the strange powder that most resembled your skin tone. It didn't make any difference, you mused with a frown. If only your mother was here, she'd know what all of this stuff was for, you sighed.

 

You tried some on anyway, and just smiled a bit sadly at the mirror. You wondered what your mum would have said - probably to stick with Carl, if you were honest, but she understood power plays, and with her own penchant for violent men, she'd probably be over the moon to discover that Negan was one of a rare breed that while being violent was in his nature, it was not directed to his women. She would have at least appreciated that he kept you safe, and that he didn't want what the people at the bayou had wanted, or force you to do anything you didn't want to do.

 

You could almost hear her in your head.

 

_'As long as you're happy, Cookie.'_

 

Yeah, she called you Cookie sometimes, because it was your favourite snack and the first thing you'd ever learned to make on your own with her. You sighed, eventually leaving the house and feeling at a loss for things to do, usually Negan would find you, or you'd work munitions, but you trusted them to output on their own without oversight so long as Simon was sticking his head in periodically, which he was. So now Negan had gone, you were at a huge loss of what to do.

 

At least, until you saw him swaggering confidently down the main pathway into the Compound, Lucille jauntily moving at his side. He had his leather jacket tied around his waist and a very thin tank top that was lined thickly in sweat from the weather - and you noticed, a clean-shaven face. Your stomach went into a knot at the sight, just staring after him dumbly, your blood and oil slicked converse you'd retrieved walking you to him almost on autopilot.

 

Fuck.

 

His eyes turned to you, and immediately, he let loose a deep, long, and rather loud catcall which made a few people's heads turn as he grinned widely at you, almost ear to ear, thumbs slipping into the pockets of the loose grey cargos he had worn for the day. It was so hot that he couldn't stand anything more form-fit than this, he had to admit.

 

He stopped near you, and swung back on the balls of his feet, whistling appreciatively and raking his eyes up and down your body without abandon, making you blush slightly that he was being so public about it.

 

"God - Fucking - DAMN!" he practically howled, grinning wildly at you. His eyes roving down and seeing the dark underwear line pulled up taught against your muscles - the skirt had, admittedly, been too short for you, and so you had the choice of revealing too much of your ass and having it pulled up correctly, or simply pulling it right the way down past your belly-button and put a little less on show. While you didn't exactly care, as if the Compound had the atmosphere for it, you'd have trained in almost nothing - since men could walk around shirtless enough (you'd already seen a few) - and not given a shit, you were keenly aware that it was distracting to others, and this was the marginally safer option.

 

"That's one sexy little number," he said with a smirk. "-I like it. Wear it more."

 

You scoffed.

 

"It's like, a hundred fahrenheit," you snorted, by way of explaining your choice of clothing. Negan nodded grimly, and grabbed some of his sweat lined collar to pull it from his skin to let a little air through down his chest and affirm your point.

 

"You're fuckin' tellin' me? I'm sweatin' like a vampire in church," he groaned - before looking at you, who didn't have any sweat lines anywhere on an, admittedly skimpy outfit, before reaching for a waterbottle at his side to drink some - now disgustingly warm - water, to hydrate rather desperately.

 

"How the fuck aren't you dying?!" Negan complained - apparantly, the heat did very little for his attitude. You looked at him and wondered honestly, how he wasn't coping. Sure, it was unbareably hot, but it was America, it was his country, shouldn't these people be better at dealing with their kind of strange climates? Surely they should be. You'd even managed to fall asleep before him, much to his irritation.

 

"I'm Indian," you said slowly, rolling your eyes as though it was the most obvious answer in the world, because, well, it kind of was. "Kinda designed for the tropics, y'know? Comes with the packaging. Shit, man - back in England about half my family had vitamin D deficiences because we hardly get the goddamn sunlight, you give me some sun and heat and I'll fuckin' flourish," you chuckled. "I'm in my element, Gorgeous,"

 

Negan groaned again, and you couldn't help but think he was just using his flair for the dramatic to whine a little more than he actually needed to, and took the bottle from him to drink some yourself just out of thirst, as you had sweat some, and felt more of it miss you and drip onto your VMA crop-top. He blinked, and looked at you in annoyance, huffing slightly.

 

"Awh, suck it up whiteboy," you teased - which was definitely new, but rather than be offended, merely glanced at the wet patch on your shirt and bluntly asked if you wore a bra underneath, as if it was relevant to anything at all.

 

You gave him a weird look.

 

"Uhh.....no? I don't have that many to choose from and I don't wear them if I'm wearing a proper shirt, usually. I thought you realised that, sorry, what's this got to do with anything?" Negan cycled through his memories - true, when you had Carl's flannel, you hadn't - and... he just stared at the now transparent patch, and groaned deeply, almost sexually.

 

"So your tits are basically just, really fucking perky,"

 

You blushed and gave him an odd look.

 

"I'm twenty-maybe? And they ain't that big anyways, I don't know what you want me to say," you blinked as he pulled you in by the hips, his hands going up your bare thighs under the skirt even in the middle of the Compound, he didn't seem to care.

 

"You can _not_ surprise me in an outfit like this when it's this fuckin' hot outside," he complained. "You wanna know what's worse than 100* Fahrenheit weather?"

 

You gave him a blank look.

 

"100* Fahrenheit weather and a fucking hard-on," he groaned, making you roll your eyes again, hand him back the water, and daringly put your hand between his legs over his cargos but with a gentleness, no force- as though to check for any sign of arousal, and were met with none, it was just Negan-banter, or rather, Negan-Using-His-Flair-For-The-Dramatic. He looked surprised anyway, because this was a lot more daring to do in public instead of a little game of grab ass.

 

"Awh, quit your bellyaching, you don't even have a semi,"

 

Negan smirked, playfully swinging his hips into your hand a little.

 

"Keep goin' like that babe and I'll get there,"

 

It was only when you heard one of his men clear their throats, that Negan stopped the playfulness, and his serious demeanour returned. You backed off, feeling just a little exhibitionist, even if it had all been fun and banter, you couldn't help but feel a bit flush, even if the expressions of his men were mostly nonplussed or ones of vague, hidden amusement.

 

"Ah! Yeah," said Negan grinning - as though their polite 'remember you're in public and we're still here' cough had suddenly reminded him of something, he swung Lucille slightly, catching the bat further down, just before the barbed wire began, and where Rosita's bullet had dented it, he then offered the handle side of the bat to you. You took it automatically, frowning in confusion, before you turned it in your hand and noticed bits of maroon that looked fresh, and dark bits of flesh clinging to the barbed wire, making your heart plummet.

 

Fuck.

 

"I got you a little somethin' while I was gone," said Negan cheerfully, ushering you to where you had taken care of Clarence earlier, where there was nothing but a few blood stains that had permanently stained the ground, that only rain had any hope of washing out, and even then, unlikely, from just how deeply it had sunk into the grout.

 

The first thing that came out of your mouth was distrust, panic, and mostly - concern.

 

"Negan - what did you do?" you gasped out in one tone, feeling your stomach get knotted up uncomfortably, only for him to chuckle at you.

 

"It'll ruin the surprise, c'mon!" he grabbed your free wrist and gently tugged you along, to where a few Saviors had been gathered, all of them with their guns excessively pointed to the centre of whatever was in the small semi-circle they'd formed. Already, the dread was balling inside of you, and you didn't know what his idea of a surprise was, but you weren't sure you were going to like it.

 

* * *

 

 

You went numb all over, save for the hand clenching the hard wooden handle of Lucille with enough force that your knuckles were slowly changing colour. Negan smirked - burning the image into his mind, he rather liked the image of you in an incredibly skimpy cheerleading outfit, lips reddened, cheeks glistening under the sun, swinging Lucille.

 

In fact, despite seeing you naked so damn often, he was pretty sure he was going to think about that in the shower later.

 

The men and women parted like the Red Sea when you came through, almost creating a runway to whatever they had been circled around. The dread feeling melted for a second, and gave way to confusion, and then - just, so many feelings fighting each other at once that you just wanted to be sick on the spot. But unsurprisingly, at least, for Negan - it was the anger that came first. There, at the centre, was a man on his knees with his hands behind his head in a stress position. Submitting to sight of innumerable amounts of guns baring down on him and keeping him from so much as quivering in place, but he chewed his lip regardless, chewing it until it completely split open.

 

"Would you believe it, this asshole was askin' around for you? Described you down to the T, imagine that. Made himself easy pickins," said Negan casually, his voice being the only thing you could hear over the uncomfortable boil of emotions. You weren't ready to deal with this today, not after how close you'd gotten last night, not after how _human_ you'd made yourself feel, sitting in front of the vanity mirror. Suddenly, it felt like you were so far away from it, it might as well have been another person.

 

The man lifted his head up - revealing a skin tone similar to your own, but with curlier, hair, and a shade or so darker, showing a mixed heritage, a definitely youthful face. He had a youthful sort of handsomeness that, if you put him in some slender fit clothes, before The Rising, you could have mistaken him to be a teenage model. Only, his face was marred with a large scar going down from his lower lip to his chin and his neck. His half-shredded shirt was covered in bits of blood and flesh, mostly around his back - where Lucille had clearly been swung, hard enough to cause him pain, but not anywhere close enough to cause him pain.

 

His amber coloured eyes stared up at you, and his face seemed to crack with a misplaced sense of relief that made his body give way to trembles, the fear was unmistakeable in his tone, but it was smooth and jazzy - reminding Negan a little bit of Aaron, he couldn't have been older than mid-twenties - and when he told his scouters his name, God - it was like the universe served him up on a plate while he was looking for you!

 

"Hey there, Lil Mama. Long time no see, huh?" he managed, his lips cracked and caked with blood, he was still painfully over-familiar, and instantly, you felt your hand - thankfully the one not holding Lucille - raise itself and bare down on his face with enough unholy force that Negan caught one of his men wincing as the man toppled onto his side on the floor, but knew better than to get up from his degraded position. Negan found his choice of words grating, and too familiar, and was rather happy when you lamped him with your hand, leaving the marks of your nails against his cheek in a violent scrape.

 

"I deserved that," he croaked out dryly, looking up at you and flinching as he felt your converse shoe on his throat - knowing full well how powerful your body was - and having a pretty solid view up the skirt to see the amount of strength packed into your legs and thighs, he was certain that he didn't want to keep pushing his luck even if it was in his nature. He could tell something about you had changed - you were.... you were angrier, and you didn't have your mother any where in sight. You'd changed. You were more cold. Merciless. He could see it within mere seconds of laying eyes on you again.

 

"Coming here was suicide Creed," you said coldly, pressing your foot against his throat.

 

"He asked for you," Negan reminded helpfully - he thought this was a rather good present, getting to personally kill a bayou member, but it seemed you were going a rather interesting path, and he couldn't stop watching. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Michonne and Carl, who'd out just to see what the noise was.

 

"Why was my name in your mouth?" your voice was speaking in a tone that he personally, never wanted to hear directed at him, associating it with exactly the voice you'd taken when dealing with Clarence. Grudgingly, you released your foot off his throat a little, at least, so he could speak. Creed licked some of the blood off his lips, choking and feeling the pain aching through his back as he slowly turned onto his side, just so he wouldn't be leaning against the parts of him where Lucille had taken out solid chunks of flesh.

 

You snarled now, feeling the familiar dread and anger you had felt when Shax had taken Alexandria.

 

" _Did the Major send you?"_

 

Creed shook his head vehemently as a negative, and the only reason you'd asked was because he was known to travel for exceedingly long periods of time and only spend a few weeks at a time in the bayou, because his job was survivor recruitment, and he'd only been there a year. But a year had been enough to get close to you - to wheedle into your heart, only to start stomping all over it when you needed him the most. It was the first time you'd felt heartbreak and you were sure it would have been enough to kill you dead. You'd _believed_ in this asshole, you'd believed in him when you needed saving the most and felt a cold lurch in your chest when you looked at him.

 

"N-no, I saw - I saw... Shax - on the highway, and I knew.. I mean, fuck, who else could it be? I'm glad that asshole is dead," Creed croaked. "I knew you were around here so I had to find you and --" his breathing was erratic - and it became apparant how much pain he was in, because he just seemed to be slowly oozing blood and very slowly soaking through the back of his shirt, so he was rushing his words as though he could faint at any moment, cos he was sure he might. Just being brushed by Lucille was enough to make him almost piss his pants - the pain had been unreal, but looking at your expression, he didn't know if he was better trying out Negan for mercy than you.

 

"Y-you're still m-mad ain't you Lil Mama? I d-don't... yeah.. you should be, I'm sorry," he was aware he was snivelling, and that he must have looked so fucking pathetic, with snot trailing down his nose and to his upper lip and mixing with blood, looking at you with pleading eyes.

 

"B-but you have to believe me when I say I didn't know, I didn't - I didn't got no clue sweet thing, I really didn't know - if I'd have known I'd have put you in my fuckin' bag if I had to and I'd have got you out, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry - I swear. I swear on everythin' I fuckin' have left I didn't know!" he was begging, pleading, and sounded painfully earnest - and now Negan was hungry to know what he was talking about, only to see your face was utterly unreadable.

 

Well, you just looked pissed off to be honest.

 

"If I'dda known I'd-- I shoulda --"

 

You glared at him darkly, putting Lucille over your left shoulder, unwittingly mimicking Negan in that way that he found so incredibly hot, hips swaying as you paced around him authoritatively in that _hot_ little strap of skirt that he so badly wanted to pull down later. You lulled your head from left to right, a certain amount of mockery wheedling into your tone that he'd never actually heard from you before.

 

"If 'ifs' and 'buts' were candy and nuts--" you said darkly, reaching into the back of his hair - and pulling him so hard you jerked him backwards so his eyes were forced to look up at you as you lorded over him from behind, the soft curls of his hair being held in such a vice grip that Creed didn't know how he hadn't been scalped from the aggression you were showing. "I'd have a merrier fuckin' day and I wouldn't be trying to think of all the different ways I can kill you, Creed."

 

Creed swallowed thickly, he so rarely heard this tone from you before - in fact, he wasn't sure he ever had - and it was scary. He almost didn't recognise you, but he knew to never, EVER call your bluffs. He had no doubt you would kill him if he said the wrong thing, and God, did you fucking want to kill him anyway. Just looking at him sent the deep sting of betrayal coursing through your body and invoked the familiar slew of hatred and resentment.

 

"You gotta believe me when I say I'm sorry and I didn't know a thang," his thick, Southern accent oozing into his desperation.

 

Your eyes narrowed, and you twisted the bit of hair in your hands so you were pulling some out of his head - and he winced. Yep. His scalp was probably, definitely bleeding - and that was the least of his problems.

 

"I don't have to do jack shit, fuckarse."

 

Creed closed his eyes and knew he didn't have much more of a window to try to convince you he was sorry, so instead, he had to show you.

 

"I can show you how sorry I am, I brought the... I took them from the base. A-ask your guys. A-ask your men - t-there's a truck just full of shit. I took it when I left, I wasn't gonna find you but then I saw Shax and I knew you had to be alive," he rambled. You glanced at Negan, who nodded once, and turned back to him - no amount of shit he took from the base was going to cure what he did. Nothing. You'd take it though, and kill him for his troubles. It's about all he fucking deserves....

 

_So why hadn't you swung Lucille yet?_

 

_Some part of you wants to believe Creed didn't know._

 

Suddenly, you made everyone flinch, your righteous anger boiling over for a second as you looked at Creed's hopeful expression. You shouted - screamed in fact, with absolutely no warning that you were about ready to start screeching in his face, causing the people nearby to back away a little.

 

" **Fuck you** _Kanjar!_ " sliding into Punjabi when you ran out of a word distasteful enough for you to use in English, it was also the first time Negan heard you speak another language, and while he had no idea what you were speaking in or what you'd said, it didn't take a genius to figure out it had been pretty disparaging. You sucked in a sharp breath, circling him like a deadly snake, threatening to get closer and closer, tighter and tighter until Creed fucking popped. "You no good, dirty, rotten, back-stabbing, _haramjada_ son of a _kutha!"_ There was an almost masculine tone to your swearing, it was sharp and piercing, and even the vast amount of Saviors who didn't understand felt they probably would have wilted under the level of aggressive hatred you were showing.

 

"You really fuckin' think a truck full of shiny shit is going to make up for what you did?! _**YOU LEFT ME FOR DEAD. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO COME BACK! WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I BELIEVE A SINGLE THING OUT OF YOUR LYIN' DIRTY MOUTH?"**_ you made no bones about why you hated him, it was enthralling, and clearly, there had been something deeper here. Clearly, there was a history - and Negan found himself fascinated, just as much as everybody else. A tingle of excitement raced through him when you moved Lucille over your shoulder - and slowly raised it.

 

Creed knew it was make or break time, and with all of his strength, raised his voice to answer you back, eyes widening in horror when you let go of his hair and he saw you raise Lucille high above your head, the shadow of the bat falling over his face under the intense Virginia sun.

 

" _I BROUGHT THE AUTOCANNONS!"_ Creed screamed, feeling a cold gust of wind from the bat as you brought it down, and stopped it mere millimetres away from his face, his entire body giving way to tremors that were so profound, he didn't know his teeth didn't start chattering wildly in his skull. If he'd have had anything to drink, he would have actually pissed himself. When he saw he had your audience, he swallowed the ball of abject fear in his throat and faught to hold his stare with your own, which bore down on him with extreme hatred. He was shaking all over, and it was hard to even lift his tongue up to speak and Lord - he thought he was just so irreversibly fucked, just completely and utterly boned six-ways-to-Sunday that he was almost ready to cry with relief when he didn't get bludgeoned over the head with the bat.

 

There was a defeaning silence after his words, except for his panicked breathing and your own, angrier, adrenaline-fuelled breathes, your chest heaving deeply from the level of anger that was clearly coursing through your body and pushing out far more energy than was even necessary, like your body couldn't possibly contain the amount of feelings you'd had for Creed and all of the anger he'd induced that it was just pouring from every part of your skin.

 

"I b-brought the a-autocannons, I t-thought - they're the only things that work now b-besides some of the tanks and small artillery so - I took them just...so ... no unwelcome surprises - w-when I left. I didn't want - I mean, I hoped I could find you so you'd know - I'm not... they didn't send me. Fuckin' hell, Deadshot. They'd kill me if they caught up to me on the road with these because they'd know I wasn't comin' back, and now you know too, I swear I --"

 

You gave him an unforgiving look, lip curled into a sneer.

 

"And how do I know it's not a trap, huh? I know how the Major thinks, and I know what I'd do. I'd send the person I had the most connection with that he could afford to have out of his sight and send him with the autocannons just so the lie would look believable to get you in good with us. And then what? You survey the Compound, you sneak off, or you dismantle us from the inside. You signal the bayou - and you run us through. You've already proved I can't trust a goddamn thing out of your dirty lyin' lips Creed so why the FUCK would I now---"

 

Creed moved his hands to his front shyly - and you noticed they were shaking severely, to grab the ends of his shirt. He hung his head, chewing his already shattered lip - looking down at the floor pathetically.

 

"I left them. I swear. I don't know what else I can do to c-convince you. E-except... except this," he said with a cringe, slowly rolling his shirt up. You gave him a critical look and signalled the guns down with one hand gesture, which told him it was safe to get up, and he shakily got to his feet, after nearly falling once when one knee collapsed for a second out of sheer terror.

 

There, in front of you, the Saviors and Negan - he exposed his chest, revealing long, deep, purposeful marks that had been made over his body. He'd been cut deeply, with a serrated knife and had those cuts cleaned out - they were surgical in their precision, and yet, ritualistic in their nature, and with a chilling realisation settling over you - Negan simultaneously realised those were not dissimilar to the markings you'd did on Clarence to blueprint where his heart had been using your own finger blood, before you'd caved it clean out of his chest.

 

"I was gonna be next," Creed whimpered.  "Do you believe me now?"

 

Lucille sagged at your side, and you just stared at the horror that had happened to his torso, before you turned noticeably pale, and jerked your head away so you didn't have to look at him.

 

"Check his truck. Jesus Christ." you said quietly, screwing your eyes shut and feeling the throbbing, pulsing anger start to ebb - it was still there though, along with the sharp feeling of betrayal. Okay, so you believed Creed. Did this really change anything?

 

"So why did you want to find me?"

 

"I wanted to find where you were safe - a-away from them. I know... I just... I needed to... I needed to show you I was sorry, and I know how scared you were now, and I'm so sorry,"

 

Creed started to cry, and you turned away from him in disgust, your eyes suspiciously warm and rather shiny, like you might too, while also looking pale - like you could be sick, yet your lip was curled into a sneer. It was a strange expression, a hodge-podge of emotions that shouldn't be mixed together in one toxic brew that made Negan almost regret the present he got you. He thought that you'd be happy just to kill him on the spot and show you that he was honouring his promise to kill every last bayou member he could. He didn't expect this.

 

He didn't expect a pandora's box of emotion, or for something far deeper to have transpired than even he understood - and he thought he finally had _some_ idea of the bayou's depravity after your story. But no, just like usual, the truth of it was in all the things you didn't say.

 

"Ohh. You're _sorry,"_ you mocked. "Did you hear that guys? This bloke over here is sorry for leaving me for dead! Guess that makes it all fuckin' better!" you snarled, turning back on your foot to stare at him.  "Fuck you. This doesn't fix shit. You left me - you said you'd be back _I TOLD YOU WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENS AT HARVEST AND YOU LEFT ME THERE ANYWAY._ Did you even feel any fucking guilt before they turned the knife on you?"

 

"Of course I did bab--"

 

"Actually shut the fuck up," you snarled "-I don't wanna hear it. What in the hell did you come here for? Forgiveness? Absolution? Suicide? As if I'd fucking dirty my hands bothering to kill you, I don't waste time on traitors, fucking hell Creed. Everything has to be some bullshit dramatic martyrdom with you because even when you're grovelling, you're still fucking selfish. If you were sorry - and I mean - REALLY - fucking sorry - you'd have walked out into the swamp and shot yourself in the head to save me the trouble."

 

Fuck, Negan mused - that was cold, he almost felt bad for the guy - who couldn't look any more torn up if he tried, and yet, after your words, he managed to crumble more, even still.

 

"And if you came here for forgiveness than I am sorry Creed, but I have absolutely nothing for you," you almost killed him - but it would be too soon, you needed to think about it, you needed a clearer head, you probably needed to interrogate him more. Break him more. Something. You looked right through Carl and Michonne and focused on Dwight - who was standing there awkwardly, unable to pull his eyes away.

 

"Put him in the fucking box. I don't want to see him right now."

 

* * *

 

 

You'd shoved Lucille back into Negan's hands without missing a beat as you stormed away from the scene, looking through everybody that was present, not even registering what the man said as he went to follow you, watching as Dwight dragged Creed away. You were panting and angry and he knew exactly where you going - the training ground probably, and he wasn't wrong, but instead of let you split open your knuckles again, once you were in relative privacy, he put a hand on your shoulder and slowly pushed his body against your angry, heaving one.

 

"Alright, I'm not gonna grill you now, but you gotta answer me later, right now - we're goin' home," he said, pushing you away from the training ground, noticing you were actually crying from how angry you were, but let him drag you away. He placed Lucille on the dining table and took you onto the sofa, letting you breath in and out angrily beside him until your hands stopped shaking with rage. There was silence for what was probably thirty minutes, before Negan slowly undid the leather jacket around his waist and got up to go to the kitchen to pour you a drink of some of the fermented hooch you'd made. He figured you'd need it - and he was right, you pretty much necked it in his shot glass and almost shattered it with the force you slammed it down with.

 

"Damn, Furious George, chill - don't take it out on my glasswear," deadpanned Negan, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

 

Strangely enough, it diffused you slightly. You sighed deeply and your entire body sagged against the sofa, slowly melting against it until you physically couldn't slouch any more than you currently were.

 

"I honestly thought you'd feel better smashin' in some bayou bastard's head in. You remember my promise last night, right? I didn't - shit, if I'd have known it was gonna upset you I'd have never..."

 

You silenced him by raising your hand up, looking more emotionally exhausted than he'd seen you in a while, even moreso than when in truck, recounting why there were no children in the bayou. He watched as you cried silently, the tears just running down your face, which had morphed from angry to just plain blank, like you couldn't handle the clusterfuck of emotions that seeing Creed had given you so you were just expelling them from your eyes and turning into a rock, trying to just harden your way through it.

 

Negan felt like he should have been comforting you, but he didn't know how, so he settled for putting an arm around you, and hesitantly pulling you into his sweat-lined tank-top, feeling you relax against him was the only indicator that you didn't mind, and that he was doing the right thing. Sort of.

 

"He brought those fancy guns you mentioned. He didn't lie," Negan offered. "-Are we killing him later?"

 

You shrugged against him, feeling an uncomfortable churn of emotions in your gut, a childish, vindictive pettiness overcame you - though if he knew the context, it certainly wouldn't be, and knowing how severe the bayou were, it probably wasn't.

 

"He needs to suffer first."

 

Negan smirked.

 

"Then we need to question him," you chewed your bottom lip, pulling your head out of his torso so you could look up and him, and slowly you moved onto his lap in a manner that you hoped wasn't sexual, and simply threw your arms around his neck, breathing him in deeply, and then squeezing gently - as though to make sure he was actually there.

 

"He hurt me bad. He left me for dead. I believed in someone in the end of days and it was such a fucking mistake, and fuck - Negan. I believe in you, and I don't want that to be a mistake, please don't leave me behind," you muttered quietly.

 

He was just slightly confused, because your last statement felt like it had a deeper meaning that needed context, like what in the hell Creed had done to you for you to feel so abandoned, but he wrapped his arms around your body, and then slid out of his shoes so he could do the same with his long, slender legs - surprising you as he leaned onto his back- turning you both length-ways on the sofa so you laid on top of him.

 

You were surprised he didn't tease you for crying.

 

"You're gonna have to scrape me off you, especially in this heat darlin'," Negan said dryly - by way of comfort. You didn't laugh, but you managed a weak smile, before burrowing deeply into his neck - making him feel uncomfortable as he still felt you crying, it wheedling down his neck and into his shirt. He really wished there was a handbook for what the hell you do when women start crying, he was good at psychology - funnily enough, he was good at knowing what to say, like when he told Eugene he didn't need to be scared anymore - he knew the chinks in the armour of people's souls after spending very little time. But what the hell was yours? You were strong all over, so when you crumbled, what the hell was he supposed to do?

 

"I don't know what to do," Negan admitted quietly, honestly, he felt like he fucked up by not killing Creed himself, and shit, maybe he did.

 

"Promise you won't leave me behind. Not anywhere." you managed, cringing at how pathetic it sounded.

 

Negan sighed, and remembered just how much he'd lost touch with himself when Lucille had died, he'd never quite gotten over it, so what he had with you? Something that was madder, more complex, nauseatingly strong, electric and powerful? If you were gone it'd take what little humanity he had, with you. He was now realising dimly that, he wasn't just in deep, but he needed you like fish need water. He NEEDED you - and you hadn't quite understood that yet. If you did, you would have no need to ask this.

 

"If I lost you or left you, I don't know that I could come back from it. Not again, don't make me fuckin' say it. You know what I'm gettin' at," he grumbled. "-I told you how fucked up I was when I lost Lucille, I can't even fuckin' contemplate what happens if it's you. I don't wanna know. I'll tell you the God's honest truth, darlin' - it scares the livin' shit outta me,"

 

He sucked in a breath and squeezed you with all of his limbs gently, and wondered what people would think if they could see just how fucking much you'd destroyed him and turned him soft, at least, with you.

 

"So no. I ain't leavin' you anywhere, fuck. I need you like fish need water and Simon needs a dermatologist," he said flatly, making you snort against him weakly - making something inside of him warm - that even after all this, he could still make some part of you feel humour - it made him feel some relief. Like he wasn't totally fucking up, even if all this was his fault. "Seriously - if you go... fuck, I stop bein' human, I don't... God, don't make me think about that shit. Just stay here with me and my old ass,"

 

Huh, now he was the one saying it.

 

You looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, and chewed on your lower lip a bit, before resting your head against the flat of his chest. So you really did mean a lot to Negan - you were like an obsession, an infatuation, the other half, the other side to his coin, the shadow, the thing that he just needed to have be there like an you were one of his fucking lungs just to keep him going.

 

"Were you and Creed a thing? The way he spoke to you - it... kind of sounded like it,"

 

You sighed against him, closing your eyes.

 

"Sort of. As close as having a thing when you're the Major's bed thing gets, but he was definitely my friend. For a while," you thought you detected jealousy in his tone, and managed a shaky smile. "You don't miss a beat, do you?"

 

"Nope,"

 

"Well, don't worry. I'm not sure I've ever felt like this about anyone else ever before, I dunno if I could again," you blushed, and suddenly, you understood why Negan struggled to voice how exactly he felt, it was just awkward, and hard - especially when the world made it a dangerous place to feel like this. "If you left, I think.. " you cringed, and muttered it low into his chest, because it sounded so fucking corny.

 

"I think it'd break my heart,"

 

Negan smiled, though you couldn't see it, and gently urged you up his body, placing his lips on your forehead the moment it came into the purview of his mouth, and sighed contently, even if it was unbareably hot out to be laying like this, he wasn't sure he'd trade it for the world. The answer was _satisfying_ \- he wasn't sure he'd ever meant this much to anyone before, and in a strangely innocent way, he had to admit...it was exciting.

 

"Then lets not go breaking it any time soon,"

 

He squeezed, and you squeezed back - and that was that.

 

 

 

 


	17. Hot for Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This barely qualifies as a chapter, it's pretty much straight porn. Deal with it.
> 
> Plot furthers after this though, to the aforementioned questioning, bonding and flashes to the past. Strap in.

Oh my God, did he hate his emotions, he really fucking did. He wasn’t one to consider himself massively in touch with them on a regular basis, but since all of this shit happened, he was more human than ever, and it was a pure clusterfuck for Negan. He was jealous – he was goddamn jealous of the boy in the box. He wanted to kill him. To smash his pretty little face in, to wipe the tears that he felt responsible for.

 

The night cooled off, at least – and he was good to sleep beside. Large, tall, all-encompassing, and probably more than you deserved. You had fallen asleep in your day outfit, and noticed that he’d taken your shoes off for you, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed. He laid in bed – pissed off, mostly at himself, largely at Creed, excited by your anger – but mostly pissed off.

 

He couldn’t do a fucking thing right. He kept on pushing, pushing and pushing because he wanted no lies between you two, but every horrible thing he found out, he wished he could plunge his hand through time, grab the asshole responsible and rip their spines out through their fucking throats and the fact that he couldn’t infuriated him. If it’s one thing he hated, it was feeling helpless, and he was powerless to help you. Negan tensed as he felt your warm, scarred palm brushing over his naked torso, tracing down his happy trail. He’d laid in bed with his eyes shut, managing to clamber into some underwear just so he didn’t feel totally odd lying by you – who’d fallen asleep in cheerleader gear.

 

Negan made a small grunt, opening his eyes slowly to look at you. You were chewing on your lips innocently, giving him a wide-eyed sort of stare. Your eyes were a little swollen from crying earlier, but they weren’t sore, as you hadn’t broken down too much. You’d been mostly angry, and truth was, you still were, and part of you wanted to drive a stake clear through Creed’s heart. You’d loved him once, and you wanted to hurt him just as much as you’d loved him. It was that simple – it was why your hand was on Negan’s body, and you were slipping your fingers teasingly into the waistband of his boxers.

 

“Mm, what’s the matter, can’t wait for the honeymoon?” Negan teased, managing to gather enough of his cocksure tone to address you, when you glanced away, a redness on your face, he gave you a questioning look. He wasn’t complaining of course, not one bit, but considering what had happened a few hours previous, he was a bit taken aback. Something wasn’t right.

 

“What can I say? I’m hot for teacher,” you managed, smiling weakly and rolling your eyes, feeling them ache from your crying as you did so. Negan snorted – you weren’t ever gonna let the gym teacher thing go, and personally, he found you to be too young to even know about Van Halen, but part of him was pleased. Maybe your taste in music could be salvaged after all – his mind went blank as your hand started to slip through his boxers, and made a gentle grab for your wrist, stopping it going down too far. Yeah – something didn’t feel quite right.

 

“Not that I’m complaining – I just – how’re you randy right now? You were cryin’ an hour ago,” said Negan, brows furrowed.

 

You chewed on your lower lip.

 

“I’m young, I’m always randy,” you said lamely, seeing that he didn’t buy it, you took your hand out, and locked your smaller legs around his, pressing the skirt against his boxers and rolling on top of him, making him look up at you with an inscrutable expression. He wanted to believe it, he really did – hell, his cock kind of wished he’d not put up a fight, but he wasn’t one to charge in headfirst without abating his own worries first. At his look, you hung your head guiltily, it wasn’t like you weren’t massively attracted to him, and dying to act on him since you got the greenlight from Carson, but did Creed really have to be the catalyst?

 

“Well, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before and – well, Creed’s back – I want… you to know… that I haven’t changed my mind or nothing,”

 

Negan actually chuckled – you really were showing your age, but he had to admit, the fiery, petty jealousy he felt was getting very quickly stomped all over by your clumsy attempt at seduction.

 

“I appreciate the thought, but you don’t gotta do this for me babe, I’m not a boy – I’m a man. I don’t need the constant reassuring,” you felt his hands on your thighs up the skirt, holding you in place in a manner that was strangely reassuring as much as it was sensuous. “Seriously, you’re worth the wait, it’s fine,”

 

Huh. Worth the wait.

 

It was a simple enough little thing to say, what he didn’t expect was for your mouth to fall open and your face to go a bright shade of red, like he’d done something very intimate. He was then at that moment, rather painfully reminded that he was probably the best man you’d ever have, and that you weren’t used to having your bodily integrity cared about.

 

He expected you to crawl off of him, and kiss him goodnight. He wouldn’t have complained if that’s all that happened that night, what he didn’t expect was for you to buck your thighs against his groin, smiling nervously – making him gasp sharply, because he didn’t expect it. You were now very slowly rutting against him, grinding your sitting body across his crotch until you could see the lust creeping up into his face. You noticed that he felt a lot more readable now that he’d actually shaved off the -admittedly very sexy – face fuzz. You thought he’d look weird, and sure, he looked different, but you didn’t know if weird was quite the word.

 

Hot, might have been more accurate. You could see his strong, firm jawline and it emanated the same sort of strength that his broad, well-built torso had and it was very attractive, you had to admit. He had a nice face under all that hair.

 

“And what about if I’m impatient?” you breathed out low “-and I can’t wait?” continuing to rut playfully against him.

 

Fuck. He didn’t know how to predict you at all.

 

“Then I would have to say,” he exhaled deeply “-I’m about to be a very, very lucky bastard,” sinking his fingers against your thighs. You smirked, feeling him twitch in his shorts – you weren’t the only responsive one, and it felt kind of good to be one initiating, in a way – you were kind of getting him back for the showerhead incident.

 

“I was gonna say you and me have a date with the showerhead to cool off, but I’ll be honest, I don’t think I can get that far,” you continued, watching his facial expressions change as you ran your hand down the flat of his torso in a way he could only describe as unfamiliar but reverent – something he could always do with more of. Just to feel wanted, because fucking hell – you’d been right on the money that day. He wanted to be wanted. Just like any other red-blooded man.

 

“A-and yeah, I’m pissed off at Creed – I’m so mad that he thinks he even has the right to ask forgiveness, I don’t care how many peace offerings he gives. Yeah, I’m angry Negan. I’m so – _fucking –_ mad!” you snarled, a certain aggression in your rutting now, and not that he was complaining, but it was definitely new.

 

“That he shows his fucking face in these parts and has the gall to ask for me. Ohh God, yeah, he broke my goddamn heart, I’d love to drive an icepick right through his and take it clean out. But y’know, I can… settle for letting him know there’s no picking up where we left off. I want him to know that you’re…”

 

Negan swallowed thickly, feeling you press your nails into him very gently, you weren’t rough at all, but it was possessive, not something he was used to being on the other end of, feeling you pull down the boxers so that he could feel the material of your underwear against his cock, and continue to grind against him.

 

“You’re mine, and you need to know it too,” you closed your eyes briefly “-I choose you,” you could have chosen Rick – and killed him so many times over. Heaven’s know you had the chance, so many times. Hundreds of times. You had the means and the ability, but not the will.

 

“I’ll always choose you,” 

 

You were being infuriatingly sexy, and yeah, you were getting him hard – but it seemed so sudden that he, for a moment, felt more like you were proving a point instead of actually wanting it, and said as much.

 

“Oh yeah, I’m totally proving a point,” you admitted, slowly leaning down and putting your lips onto his, before pulling them back slightly, your breath rolling against his cheek. “But you also look really, really good, I’m only human, and there’s actually a pretty handsome guy under all your fuzz,”

 

Now that sounded genuine, and even with an erection that felt like Mt Everest, he couldn’t help but laugh richly, a healthy flush coming to his face.

 

“I thought you said I’d look weird, but babe I was sweatin’ under that thing, worst case scenario – I thought I’d just grow it back if it was a deal-breaker,” he teased – you flushed, you weren’t that shallow. He had to know that, right?

 

“I was wrong, and you can do whatever you want with how you look and I’ll still fancy you,” you confessed, making him laugh harder – ruining the mood slightly, if not for the fact his growing erection felt rather persistent through your panties.

 

“Oh God, now that was the most English way of putting it, you ‘fancy’ me,” he chortled, making you blush deeply. “What are we, twelve?”

 

“Better than being stuck on you, you make me sound like a fungus,”

 

“Well, you have grown on me,” Negan teased “-so you’re not wrong,”

 

Oh my. He was really something, if he was able to cheer you up like this after the meltdown you’d had with Creed earlier. It felt better now, things seemed a little more right and he felt a little less guilty, rubbing his cock against you and feeling the material of your panties start to dampen against him, making him smirk because of how purely little he’d done.

 

“Damn, you really want this don’t you?”

 

You glanced away from him briefly; he swore he saw that needling bit of shame in you and wanted nothing more than to quash it, and frowned a little, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties which he’d tugged a little way down your thighs, but not substantially so.

 

“A-are we supposed to wait? I mean, I don’t know how people do it properly,” you confessed, a bit of shame in your tone.

 

Negan just chuckled, and instead of feeling humiliated, he just smiled at you in that way that made everything inside of you turn to fucking jelly.

 

“Ain’t no perfect time babe, though I’ll admit, world bein’ what it is, we’ve been a little fast. But I don’t care, I’ve loved every second, haven’t felt this fuckin’ alive in…. shit, I dunno,” he said.  “As long as it ain’t been bad for you, I can at least say… it’s been good for me,”

 

Shit, so even Negan feels insecure sometimes – you had to admit, you found the thought a bit comforting, it humanised him more instead of making him seem like he was the elder who knew everything.

 

“I ain’t never had a man care if I..” you blushed, and looked down. Yeah. You never had a guy actually care if you got off, or how fast or slow you were, or whether you wanted it nor not. “Y’know,” you muttered, trailing off. “Or um, take care of me proper. Or um – or even really give a shit much what I want or have to say, and even before we started… this, you always cared about what I had to say,”

 

Shit, Negan mused. You were right. It was always your original purpose, only now your words had more and more meaning, and he started to factor in things like caring about what you thought about him, and now? He looked at you, he heard your words loud and clear, and he knew he wasn’t a good man. No, but he wasn’t the people who came before him – and he didn’t want to be. You made him want to be a better man and that’s not something he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt, not even before The Rising.

 

He looked at you sometimes and saw insurmountable pain, curled up in the body of an incredibly strong girl – now a woman. Forced to grow up. Forced to do horrible things. Things he was only just now learning. Things that would break a lesser being. But not you. God. He – he remembered all the times he’d danced around it. Because that’s just what guys do.

 

_You know what I’m getting at._

_Don’t make me say it._

Leaving things implied but never said – he felt the blood rushing south as you rose up off his legs and began tugging down your underwear with a lack of grace, but leaving the skirt on – because he rather liked the look. But he liked that you raised the material now and then – he loved seeing himself grind against you.

 

“You’re my good girl,” said Negan slowly, unable to pull his eyes from what was happening at your hips – shuddering as he felt the wetness of your pussy sliding down the outside of his shaft, teasing him, slicking him down, but not sliding him inside. It was the most delicious kind of torture – and he’d have loved to have this looped in his mind forever. “The best girl – that – ohhh fuck, will you just – _that’s hot – “_ he felt your hands picking up his cock and rubbing it all around you – everywhere except where he so desperately wanted to see it slide in.

 

It was all you – you were in control, it was irregular, and he was loving every second of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman on top and he’d forgotten just how good it was. Truly.

 

_‘Fuck, Negan. Stay on track.’_

“You are so hot – and scary, and scary hot,” he gasped – but oh, he needed to keep his thoughts in line before you – made him lose his goddamn mind like when you’d given him head.

 

_‘I told her I need her but it’s not enough. Fucking hell, man. Look at her. She’s so desperate to prove that I mean more to her than Creed. She’s just a fucked-up woman, who was a fucked up little girl, and she doesn’t know how to do anything else except this.’_

He moaned despite himself when he saw you slide the head in – just the head, and he wanted so much more but he felt absolutely a-slave under you, and he couldn’t have been happier. In a moment, it almost broke him.

 

He had no idea how he looked right then, how he looked under you – face lined with stubble, firm, strong, masculine jawline – nothing to hide that deep flush that you had found so cute, which, now fully exposed – you just found _hot._ The way his mouth fell open, and how vulnerable he looked, how utterly, distinctly, un-Negan.

 

That burning desire in his face – his eyes and then, the fucking _noise –_ he moaned your name, your true name, and it drove you _nuts._

“Oh my God,” you gasped – you felt it burning into the back of your skull – the way you’d brought this man down – and you fucking relished in it. “Negan,” you stretched and moaned his name, feeling the pressure and tingling sensations mount up in your thighs. Regularly you had to stop, knowing just how easily you could push yourself over the edge, and it was torture for him. Really.

 

“You’re really sexy, Jesus Christ, Negan – the things you do to me,” you admitted, because of course, you had to find him attractive enough that just seeing him aroused had excited you, and more than once – like in the shower when you’d thought he was a hot mess.  He blinked slowly – he got the idea that you thought he was at least from all of the ass-grabbing, and that you were viscerally attracted to the male form, enough for it to get you horny – but to hear that you were specifically into _him –_ that was just lovely. You’d said something to the effect before, but it didn’t really sink in until now. It made him grin.

“You have no idea!”

 

 _‘Even with all that shit before, she wants to do it. She wants **me.** For some ungodly reason, she actually wants me, needs me’ _he felt the nails down his torso and shivered. ‘ _Craves me, fucking hell. What did I do to deserve this? Deserve her?’_

He cried out softly, feeling you slowly slide him in – he couldn’t look, he’d fucked plenty but this wasn’t just a fuck, the air felt so heavy that – God, shit, was this what making love was? When it meant this much? When he needed it to be perfect? When he needed not to lose himself? When it actually mattered this much?

 

_‘She deserves better. Better than Creed. Have to – have to give it to her good. Give her better. Be better. Do better. Can’t – God – I never want this to end – ‘_

He hated everyone that came before him, not that it made you dirty or wrong in any way no, but because they hurt you, and if he had been your first, he’d have made sure there was no goddamn shame inside you, not a fucking lick of it. He’d have done it all right. He’d have done right by you. He had to give it to you good. He wanted to make you forget – needed to have you – be inside you – take care of you. Be all around you. Be everything for you.

 

“I---“

 

He looked and he saw you raise the material of the white skirt and watched the torturously slow gesture just as much as he felt it – feeling you sliding his shaft into your deliciously warm, wet, receiving body.

 

 _“I’minlovewithyou!”_ he gasped out in one congealed mess, eyes almost rolling back. Fuck. Fucking hell. Fuck. He wasn’t embarrassed, no. But he used to say those words a lot and they hadn’t meant nearly so much as they did now, they were often placating and patch-up words. Then after Lucille died, he never said them again, simple as that. But right now he needed you to believe him, he needed it more than anything in the world.

 

You bit down on your lip – your body didn’t meet him with much resistance, but the walls of your pussy had a light push as you slid him in with a sense of urgency, before loosening to accommodate him in cover to cover heat, and wetness, like you’d been made just for him – like a fucking glove.

 

When he said those words, your eyes settled onto his face, his blushing, uncharacteristically vulnerable face, and he forced his dark eyes to drag themselves up to look at you, you shivered as you felt him throbbing inside you, able to focus on the pulsing sensation when you had gone torturously still. Negan wished with every part of him that you would fucking move, but at the same time, the immediate sensation was so delicious, that he relished in the heat of it for a moment, his heart jumping into his throat.

 

“I love you,” he shuddered out again. You needed to hear it – and he needed you to hear him. Badly. He needed to be better than before, and so he was trying.

 

He felt you before he saw you; his eyes were squeezed shut just to give some monetary relief from the hotness of seeing himself packed inside of you. He felt you slowly rut your hips, as though feeling for just how much he filled you, to test your own comfort, before raising your thighs off of him slowly, and bring them back down with equal pace.

 

“Ha…a…. f-f-uck…”

 

 

 

He missed the look of surprise, satisfaction and absolute raw, dominant, need in your eyes.

 

“Again,” you breathed, not sure you believed what you just heard, slowly raising yourself up on him, using one hand around his shaft to keep him positioned so he could slide directly inside of you when you moved back down to sit on him.

 

Negan felt his teeth grinding – losing himself in the moment, he just needed more hot, wet, _you –_ and now he was in that state where he’d have said anything to get it, but it didn’t mean it rang any less true.

 

“I fucking love you!” he snarled, his hips twitching to meet your movements, and suddenly you found the shirt stifling. You clumsily took it off and saw him grin when you could see again – and he sat up with you still on him, wrapping his tremendous arms around your shoulders and putting his lips everywhere he could reach – _greedily –_ like back on the truck, but this time, with a sexual charge.

 

“I love you,” he hissed, going in for your lips. Only, this time, you felt him pushing past, roving his tongue inside of you. It was a strange feeling – but not a bad one, you would have accepted him into you in every way possible in that moment so instead, you found yourself moaning into his mouth, shyly traversing his. To think – you hadn’t even kissed like this yet before, but you could see why, it would have taken your knees out from under you and you weren’t sure you would have been able to wait this long to have him otherwise. He only stopped when you needed air, when the desperate snarls through the nose just weren’t enough and you were getting light headed, because he was bouncing you on his cock and raising his hips up to meet you at the same time, strangling you with passion. You just needed – more air – and so did he. He pulled back from your lips, gasping and sweating, blushing and needing.

 

He snapped when he saw that look on your face – the needful, utterly besotted, _I need more of you_ look. He turned greedy, again – like when he was hopelessly shoving his thighs into your mouth – but he was being passionate. Trying hard not to be selfish, he let you ride him until he couldn’t bare it anymore and he turned you over with a low growl so that you were on your side. He knew you were still hurting, certain positions were a no – but he was going to make you feel _good_ even if it killed him, and this was, admittedly, one of his favourites.

 

“Hnww..? What..?” you breathed, making him smirk.

 

“I’ve got you babe, just trust me,” his voice was deep, and heady – and he could have told you the world was flat and with just how sexy he sounded, you’d have dropped on your knees and started believing.

 

Negan took your leg, and was so glad you were flexible – and not for the first time, was god damn impressed by how fit you were. He lifted it over one of his shoulders, and you thought it strange, being on your side like this, only to practically start seeing stars as he re-entered you with a deep, animal grunt. Your fingers clawed into the bedsheets – and you swore with pleasure, hair spilling down off the side of the bed and across the pillow. It was like he was getting every last millimetre inside of you and filling you wall to wall – as if he hadn’t before – and was just making it so hard to get air.

 

You swore, and you were so lost in the moment that you could have screamed down the Compound, you heard him say it again. Your nails scraped down the sheets and you felt the pressure building again, feeling him pumping precum inside of you and pushing himself back inside of you with such need that it was spreading down the thigh of the leg that was on the bed. It was pushing you and hitting that spot – way, deep, deep inside of you without hurting you, far beyond the bundle of nerves that came just from pleasuring your clit – h-how the fuck did he find your g-spot before you did? You groaned, usually that took a lot of work and you’d give up and just build up that wonderful sensation by pleasuring yourself from the outside and filling the penetrative need as easily as you could. When Negan used his fingers – he knew how to do it without you even telling him, but this? Fucking hell, it felt like he’d struck gold, and you let him know it.

 

Negan smirked – good, he wasn’t sure how long he could last doing this, and he wanted to give you release long before he gave into his own. You deserved that much – and you squeaked as he pulled out – letting out a long, disappointed noise.

 

“What -  the - fuck?” you managed between gasps, only to feel him throw you onto your back with incredible ease, bringing up your other leg so both sat on his shoulders.

 

“I want to see all the faces you can make,” Negan said smugly, though the desire was there – and he mirrored your own words, hopelessly arousing you.  He re-entered you with very little pause, and you whimpered as he moved one of his large, domineering hands onto your pelvis, ghosting down your throat and abusing that horribly aroused bundle of nerves.

 

You lasted barely a minute and a half, between him pushing that sweet spot inside of you and robbing your lungs of every last strip of air and the mounting pressure against your clit was just too much. You couldn’t have held on even if you tried, he watched as you came – orgasming all around him and savouring your moaning, how you felt around him, how you clamped down on him – how it was better than everything he pictured. You felt him follow shortly after, gasping and groaning, his voice, deep and unusually wanton. You felt the mess he made of your thighs and didn’t care, you only felt the lovely, beautiful afterglow as he slid out of you. He flopped beside you, his entire body covered in the same thick sheet of sweat.

 

For a while, all you two did was lay there, panting – and staring at the ceiling. Oh yeah. Neither of you had been quiet. You weren’t surprised if the noise leaked out and everyone including the sentries knew. Yet somehow, you didn’t find yourself caring.

 

You managed to gather up your wits, your entire face flush – rolling onto your side to smile tiredly at Negan.

 

“Oh m-my fucking God,” you half-sighed, half-laughed, feeling your bones coursing with a tired, sleepy sort of pleasure.

 

“I don’t know how we didn’t do that sooner,” you breathed, closing your eyes as you heard him give you a throaty laugh. Mm. He still sounded sexy like this, you mused.

 

“The amount of times I’ve whacked it in the shower over you, I’m surprised we held out this long too,” he replied cheekily – but after what you’d done, you didn’t have it in you to blush, you just tiredly rolled yourself closer to him to tuck your face into his torso. Negan was, surprisingly, a very good cuddler. Not something you would assume looking at him, but his broadness made it a rather wonderful thing – to be in his arms.

 

“Mm…Negan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you too,”

 


	18. The Walls Kept Crumbling Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we're nearly at 1000 views! Thanks for sticking around!

You’d had sex with Negan.

 

More accurately, you’d made love to Negan, and he’d made love to you back. Love. That four-letter word that you never had a positive association with. You had loved him, had him inside of you, wanted him around you, drank him in. He was intoxicating and bad for you, probably. On the surface of it, maybe, but he hadn’t made you act any worse, no. The horrible thing about you was, you acted worse of your own accord, all the Saviors did was give you an outlet where your behaviour was acceptable – but carving a man’s heart out? You couldn’t say that was Negan’s fault, or your amazing, festering, powerful anger. You couldn’t say that was his fault either. It was how you were. The monster you had been raised as, a product of your surroundings.

 

You felt his tangled limbs around you shift when he’d gotten up that day, you were quite surprised that morning, when you saw him in the abominable apron and – well, yeah. Just the apron – you had a nice view of his rosy and, in all fairness, far-too-nice-for-his-age arse. You didn’t bother smothering the giggle that escaped you, which made him turn around – so you followed it with a catcall and a grin.

 

“Yeah, so uh. I can’t make eggs as good as you,” he said flatly. “-But they’re not burned so I’m just gonna call that a victory,”

 

You laughed at how stupid it was, stupid but uncharacteristically sweet. You noticed that with a reason to be sweet, he would be – without hesitation, when it came to you. Breakfast was a quiet affair, and he didn’t comment on your dopey smile, but he did put his fork down very briefly to kiss you on the lips and then silently go back to eating.

 

You were loved up, that much was obvious. Now, he was too – but he was a lot more reserved about it, he had age and experience – but you? You gave him a starry-eyed look and practically bubbled with glee that only ever came from a first love.

 

 _I’m that first love,_ Negan thought smugly. _Eat that, Creed._

You couldn't, for the life of you, keep your hands off of him. You wondered for a moment if it was annoying, but if it was, he didn't say. He just seemed more amused by it than put out, for starters, you grabbed his arse a lot more the following day than usual. He started reciprocating too, reaching up under your skirt and grabbing a handful but with marginally more discreetness than you, it was fair to say that Simon and Dwight caught it far more often than you actually thought. You'd even managed to get to Rick's door - and found Daryl ready and packed to head to the Kingdom, but noticed a heavy sort of air, and Rick just scowling at a radio in his hands. You didn't question it, not wanting to get into what felt eerily like family drama, and merely returned to Negan - handsiness in full force.

 

"You're ridiculous," Dwight muttered, watching as your hand very slowly, and very obviously, inched towards Negan.

 

You held Dwight's stare, and grabbed Negan's arse anyway - and by this point, he'd stopped reacting so much unless you caught him by surprise.

 

"Hey, it ain't my fault he has an _extremely_ nice Old Man Arse, alright? If it's there, I'm gonna grab it,"

 

Now that caught Negan's attention.

 

" 'Scuse you, who you callin' old, bitch?" he said, in false-offence, making you give him a coy, playful look. Dwight was a little fascinated, because in all the time he'd known Negan, he very rarely saw this side of him, sure, it was an evolution of his silly side, but he never saw it as something mutually engaged in, and sickeningly innocent. Negan and innocent went together like oil and water, and yet... he wasn't sure if he had any other word for it besides that.

 

"Eh, it's not an insult, you may look like you're in your forties, but you ride like you're eighteen and I haven't broken your hip yet so..." you trailed off with a mischevious look on your face that he could only describe as impish, and it was the lewdest he'd ever heard you be around his men, but you seemed to relish in the discomfort you caused them. Negan also kind of found it hillarious, so it wasn't like he stopped you, and he did practically preen under the compliment.

 

"Babe, these may be the strongest workin' hips in the fuckin' state of Virginia, breakin' em isn't something I'm worried about," he grinned, making you scoff.

 

"Yeah, in a place where mostly everyone is dead and I can pop their heads like grapes, I'm not taking that with an extreme amount of confid--" he cut you off, dragging you by the hips into his, giving you an intense, severe sort of expression that made you squeak.

 

"You givin' me some of that British sarcasm babe? Sounds like to me, you need another test drive," he smirked, making you turn bright red, okay, yeah - he could definitely out-lewd you in front of the men, who, to their credit, didn't react much to your weird, changing dynamic or mutual sexual forwardness.

 

"As incredibly hot as that would be, we kinda have stuff do to,"

 

Negan groaned, and muttered something that sounded like  'yeah me' - but conceded to your point.

 

"I do hate it, but the lady is correct!" he exclaimed, in his typical melodrama,  making you roll your eyes. Yeah, there was a lot of things you two had to do, it turned out he really didn't have time to sit around and jack off all day, and that seemed to be the end of the joking. Of course, the fairly obvious, lust-filled side-glances were impossible to miss, but for most the part, business came before pleasure. It was however, much nicer to have Negan with slightly more predictable moods and an active diffuser. It felt like, finally, they could breathe.

 

It was funnily enough, Dwight who ended up broaching the forbidden topic. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket and sidled up to you with an unreadable expression.

 

"So, elephant in the room. The boy in the box," he said bluntly, making you look at him in pure surprise.

 

Dwight had some balls on him, apparantly.

 

"What about him?" your tone took on an instant hardness to it that made him almost regret asking - feeling Negan's stare at the back of his head as he did so. Dwight grimaced - he was responsible for the boy, he wasn't sure how it happened, but it seemed that now Daryl was out, his job seemed to be jailor as well as Negan's go-to when he didn't feel like dealing with Simon and all of his bullshit.

 

"Okay, so I was hoping not to have to bring this up, but he's been screamin' bloody murder in there and usually I wouldn't really care, but he's been saying some stuff that I think we'll want to hear,"

 

You groaned - typical. Typical Creed and his bullshit. You scowled up a storm, turning to Negan and the boys with an expression that he was glad to say they weren't the cause of. You ran a hand through your hair -  a stress habit, now you didn't have anything to keep it wrapped up with. You didn't want to have to deal with this today, you were happy, you were loved up, Daryl was out of the box, Rick's people had their guns back, there was so much that you could have celebrated, but you couldn't. Not now. Not like this.

 

You still hadn't spoken to Carl either, since he last saw you - when he saw you question Creed. It was a surprise then, when Negan insisted on bringing Rick into this - who brought along Carl, because Carl insisted on being there. You didn't understand it, and gave him a look that said as much.

 

"Like it or not, Rick has people. Even if he's more of a... shell," a hint of mockery in his tone, the kind that sent Carl's hackles up, you could tell. God, you wished he wouldn't goad them like this, and gave him a look of silent disproval.

 

"That old fuckin' oil slick is here too," Dwight added with a grimace "-Gregory, says there's been some weird reports around Hilltop so I radioed forward,"

 

You turned around when you heard footsteps, and saw Rick charging out of a building with Carl in tow, furrowing your brown in curiosity when you saw it was Simon that jostled them out. It appeared, at least, to you and Negan that there something big going on, so big in fact, that the seconds in command had mobilised without asking for permission, and it had to be serious enough that they did it and didn't care for consequences.

 

"Again?" said Negan waspishly, he wasn't one to deal with Gregory, he left that to Dwight - because he too, couldn't stand the man and oil slick was probably the nicest way to describe him, if he was honest. It was Rick who came barrelling in that broke up the conversation, but he addressed you, not Negan - making you reel in surprise.

 

What the Hell had happened during the night....? And what the Hell did Negan mean, 'again' ? Was this the thing that he kept alluding to, or omitting, and then just brushing it aside, like it was no big deal.

 

"Maggie's missing," he said bluntly.

 

You gave him a confused look, before remembering it was the wife of one of the people that had personally met with Lucille, when Rick told you exactly what Negan did. You gave him a confused look, and stepped forward - which instinctively told the men to talk amongst themselves - as Dwight was urgently and quickly relaying the information that Negan was missing.

 

"Have you sent a message forward to the Kingdom? Look, Mr Grimes, if more of your people showed up I'd direct them to you, just like I did with the little bird," you shrugged - speaking of which, you wondered where he was, but Rick seemed to have nodded at your words, and told you he radioed Daryl while he was on the road using the long-range devices. You gave him a look that told him you were at a flat loss, and Hilltop was disappointed, because Maggie's leading presence was much more appreciated than Gregory's.

 

"So, you're telling me Saviors had nothing to do with this?"

 

"I swear to you that Saviors had nothing to do with this, from the top of the chain anyway," you said quietly, giving him a look of confusion mixed with honesty.

 

"Then that leaves us with a problem," said Rick in worry "-That and now this? What's going on?" he realised he sounded forceful, and did his best to gentle his tone with you, reminding you of how he was in the truck, he was trying hard not to demand things out of you. Truly. He watched you throw a glance at Negan, Dwight and Simon with tangible annoyance seeping through, crossing your arms under your chest stubbornly and giving out a long, put-out huff.

 

"Y'know, you'd think me shagging the boss would give me some vague hint of a clue, but apparently not, _apparently_ there's been strange reports around Hilltop and possibly even the Compound, and _apparently_ they haven't seen fit to tell me," you bit out, loud enough for Negan to hear you - Carl resisted the urge to visibly bristle. He didn't need a dictionary to figure out what shagging meant, just from your tone.

 

"Babe, chill. I thought it was nothing to worry about, in fact, I thought it was Creed, and with a little work - and him making a ruckus - we found him and I gave to you with a fuckin' bow on top," Negan retorted "-but I'm guessing not, since he's in the box, and we're _still_ getting weird reports - fresh tracks,"

 

You groaned, throwing your head back and sighing. Loudly.

 

"Okay, is someone gonna define weird for me or....?"

 

It was Dwight who did, because he was easily the most active sentry, even more so than Simon, who you were certain pretty much did it for fun.

 

"Weird as in, surrounding Hilltop and about east of the Outpost close to the highway entry we've been finding weird markings in the ground, like we've been scoped out, or someone's been camping there. We really did think it was just Creed, it was Simon and his D-team that worked on bringing him in," said Dwight.

 

Okay, so maybe Negan wasn't completely in the doghouse, and maybe you had to be a little nicer to Simon. Maybe.

 

"Okay so we have Mr Grimes, this... oil slick guy, what about the leader of the Kingdom. Tiger-guy. Ezekiel?"

 

"The Kingdom is the furthest settlement away so..." Dwight trailed off "-he's not in a position to leave either, all of his scavenger's didn't return. He radioed me at six in the fucking morning thinking we had something to do with it,"

 

You groaned, and it was Rick who spoke.

 

"First Maggie who - was probably going to lead Hilltop, lets be honest. Then The Kingdom's entire scavenging team doesn't come back? This is beyond that boy you've got in the box. More people have to be involved,"

 

Ohhhhh God. this was gonna be a long day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It didn't get worse, it couldn't get worse - you told yourself. But it can, it would, and it nearly always did. When the box was opened you'd seen that Carson must have seen to him because Lucille had managed to take out two thirds of Creed's back, and his torso - odd markings and all - were wrapped in several layers of gauze. Not that it did much, he clearly had bled through a lot. It couldn't have gotten worse, but it did - because a Savior, whose name you didn't know, walked in on what was supposed to be a serious meeting between you, Negan, Rick, Carl and Gregory.

 

Creed was still a mess, a slightly patched up mess but a mess all the same. He had sweat like hell in the box, his curly hair sticking to his forehead - he was shuddering with pain, barely able to move.

 

"You need to hear me," Creed rasped out, eyes pointed to the floor, trained on your blood-stained converse. "I didn't come all this way just to say sorry, I came here to warn you,"

 

You scoffed, and glanced at the other men, before folding your arms under your chest and slowly getting into his space. Negan wondered briefly, if he had to do anything at all - but being that this was something that interested all of the settlements, they had to be there. You rolled your eyes, glancing over the damage you could see - his shirt had been tied around his waist, but it too was covered in a healthy helping of blood, he reeked of sweat and copper.

 

"And you couldn't have said all this yesterday, when I was ready to run you through? Y'know, before I decided I didn't want your dirty, nasty blood all over my hands," you couldn't keep the coldness out of your tone, or the sneer out of your features. Rick wasn't sure he liked seeing you like this, but maybe, he mused, this is what girls had to be like to survive now. Maybe Enid would turn out like you, hells, maybe you were the future that Judith was looking at.

 

"Oh, because you thought I was mad enough to kill you anyway, right?" you pushed. Just like Negan did. You pushed, and pushed.

 

"And you thought, 'fuck - if I end up dying here, I'll die with this mysterious warning so if I die, that whole heaping, stinking shitshow can find her and ruin everything and it'd be just what she deserves for not forgiving me fucking instantly when I brought the autocannons cos that's the kind of petty fucker I am!' " you sounded out clearly, making Creed grimace.

 

"Your little _boyfriend_ over there took out two thirds of my back, I didn't want to hand over the only leverage I have if I could get you to spare me and... it worked, right?"

 

God, you wanted to ring his fucking bell so badly.

 

"Oh get fucked, why don't you just tell us what you've come all the way to Virginia for, huh?" you snarled, feeling Rick's hand on your shoulder - stopping you from lunging at him on instinct. Creed sighed, ringing his hands nervously and knowing he didn't have much in the way of favour, and once he handed this information over, his life was, very much forfit.

 

"Just so we're clear, the other reason I'm doing this - is because I know they're going to keep tracking me for what I took unless I can get the hell outta dodge and I was all out of supplies by the time I found your encampments. Between you, and them, I'll risk you - but I'm still sorry, okay? I need you to believe that," he said quietly.

 

You gave him an unforgiving, unimpressed look.

 

"If you're so fucking sorry just spit it out so I don't have to deal with you any longer than strictly necessary,"

 

Ouch. You were about as cold as the fucking ice age and Negan was secretly relishing in it, he absolutely adored the heartbreak in Creed's eyes because it reaffirmed to him that he was yours, he noticed that you bristled slightly when Creed referred to him as your boyfriend, which was a funny enough statement, just on the face of how old he was - and how young you were. It almost seems juvenile, but in truth, there was no other word for it - he didn't know you two were getting married, or that you were considered a wife.

 

"Listen, they know what you did," he said, slowly raising his eyes so that he was looking at you.

 

You felt something in your stomach drop, and felt tens of eyes on you. Shit.

 

"They know what you did and they're _pissed -_ I mean, shit. It didn't take that long to figure out, they - they found the source - and well... your handiwork is kind of hard to miss. They knew it wasn't some outside force, I mean shit, if they're mad at me, they want to raise holy hell down on you. They don't just want you back, Lil Mama - they want  _revenge,"_

 

You cringed and backed out of Rick's grip, feeling yourself fall into Negan, whose arms wrapped around your waist easily. It seemed he didn't care about expressing warmth in public, something that you'd have deemed him to masculine for, but it seemed he really didn't give a damn what people thought so long as they knew to fear him, and to obey him.

 

"What did you do?" Negan asked curiously, making Creed scoff, and give him a decidedly brave look of smugness, which was fleeting, considering all the heat everyone around him packed.

 

"You mean she didn't tell you?" he smirked, making you bite out a response.

 

"I try to leave the bayou in the wind and you people just crawl right up my fucking jacksie like I never fucking left," you snapped. Creed just smiled - and in a moment, Negan wanted to wipe it off his face, but instead, settled for clenching around your waist tighter, watching the annoyance festering behind Creed's stare. You didn't do anything horrible, you could have set all of their explosives off and destroyed the saltpeter mines with enough planning, but you didn't - you just wanted to leave with your mother and slow down the chase as much as possible. So you did.

 

"You wanted to slow them down and it worked, for a while," Creed glanced up from you, to Negan - who seemed to be waiting patiently for him to spill his guts. "She detonated an EMP. I don't know how, but she set off an electromagnetic pulse that completely fried the entire camp. For uh, context, the effect would be the same if you managed to set off a nuclear warhead. I don't know how it works, ask the brainbox yourself, but that's what she did. They found it too. The source. That's how they know,"

 

Creed sucked in a sharp breath, ploughing on forward at their looks of smothered surprise.

 

"It fried all the tech besides vintage shit and the things that the military base that had reinforced plates to deal with the detonation of nuclear warheads, so about one military truck and the Extra Long-Range Bombardment Device. Even the crane used for it. Gone. Radios? Gone. Generators? Shot to hell. If the oldies were still around you'd have taken out the pacemakers too. Very few things at the base were EMP ready and uh, you basically took us - urm - them out, by the knees, and they're pissed. You left and turned off all the lights on your way out, none of the vehicles were exactly faraday cages. All of em were taken out, which, I'm guessing was your goal,"

 

Negan slowly let you go, and gave out a long, distinctly impressed whistle, looking you up and down with a mix of lust and deep appreciation, like you'd become a new woman in the span of a few minutes.

 

"Man, I just keep gettin' luckier - I'm screwin' a smartypants boys!" which caused a smirk to flicker across Simon and Dwight's faces, at least, for a moment.

 

You gave him a flat look and turned back to Creed, watching as he glanced away when he mentioned screwing. Good.

 

"My question is, if she fried all your gear, how were your boys able to rock up on Alexandria the way they did, hm?" he said, giving him a chilling look which told him he hadn't forgotten what the bayou had done, but Creed looked clueless, meaning he musn't have heard what happened in Alexandria.

 

"That's what I came to tell you about. Since you nulled the base, the only thing worth staying for are the saltpeter mines, and um, since tracking you guys out here, they kind of like your setup. They aren't the only people - there's - there's another group. I don't know the hows or the whys, I just know that the Major and some guy called... Isaiah, I think? They were in talks when I left. Isiah had a lot of trucks, I mean, just, a lot - and they'll probably try to target you. The settlement with the most shit basically - they've... they know you're an empire though, so, it might only be a matter of time before they try to focus on this place. I had to warn you," said Creed, feeling all of the eyes boring into him.

 

"And what's their firepower, numbers? C'mon asshole, give me somethin' to work with here," Negan snapped.

 

Creed just swallowed thickly, seemingly unafraid of Negan, and much more afraid of you - but considering how much of his back Negan took out, he really should fear him more.

 

"Lots," he said, his voice crackling, fear wheedling into his tone. "-And n-now they have ELBED - they um, they've figured out how to fire it, but not how to reload it, so they have.... they have a nuke option, I guess, and they can point it anywhere they like,"

 

FUCK - from the look on everyone else's faces, that seemed to be a common consensus, well, once Gregory was filled in anyway, then it was.

 

"Isaiah helped them move it across state, I'm guessing, since he's the one with all the working gear," he gave you a look that chilled you to your bone, an expression you weren't used to seeing on Creed's gentle, handsome face. "They're coming, and they want it _all."_

 

God you thought you were going to be sick, you'd brought the trouble to their door just like you said you would, and it was actually happening, because they had nothing left to lose. All that to protect your mother, only for her to die in her sleep anyway. Fucking hell, was any of it worth it? You felt the wave of nausea hit you and the idea that ELBED could be pointed at any encampment in a one-time only fire made you want to throw up all over the floor.

 

Everyone was in danger, and it was all your fault.

 

"I need to go. I need to find them. I need to find ELBED - I'm the only one who can dismantle it I'm the only one - they need me, they're pissed - I can be bait - I need to -"

 

You felt Negan put his hand on you, and make a very loud, slightly obnoxious shushing noise.

 

"You're not being used as bait," he said firmly, glancing over at Creed. "These assholes, this... Isaiah, can we negotiate?" he bit out, and he hated negotiating, he really fucking did, and not for the first time, he was on the backfoot, and he hated it. It was right then, at perhaps the perfect (or perhaps worst) timing, that a Savior whose name you did not know, destroyed all of the formality of the meeting,  The Savior looked bedraggled, for lack of better word, dragging in a familiar figure, who was hunched over, and not looking anyone in the face.

 

"Gabriel!" it was Carl who exclaimed - reminding you he was there, the priest looked up - and instantly, your eyes were drawn to the splotch of red on his priestly collar.

 

You felt the ball of dread inside you slowly start to get bigger, bigger and bigger still.

 

"Boss, we found him out on the road, one of our overseers dragging him over was just hunched over the jeep. Guessin' it ain't old holy roller here that did it," the man snorted "-looks like he was intercepted and then left where we could find him on the roadway up to the Compound,"

 

Creed took one glance and could already tell whose handiwork it was.

 

"Looks like he already found you first," said Creed, rather unhelpfully, earning a swift kick to his knees which sent him sprawling to the floor with incredible ease - it was, unsurprisingly, from you. Negan knew personally that you kicked like a mule, and the incredible strength in your legs made even Gregory wince, he wouldn't be surprised if you cracked a kneecap.

 

"And everything you say just pisses me off!" you snarled.

 

Rick turned his attention to Gabriel, which made sense, you supposed - it was one of his people. You saw the concern rising in his features and he frowned as he saw the scarf wrapped around Gabriel's lower mouth. When you saw it, you felt something in your chest sink, making the same realisation as Creed had, and very quickly making a beeline for the priest, shoving your anger to one side.

 

"Gabriel, what happened?"

 

You blurted out in response, forgetting yourself.

 

"Rick - _don't!"_ you screeched with an urgency that kept the man rooted in place, and Negan could only watch in fascination at what was playing out, his mind reeling over the idea of what was effectively a nuke, pointed at his Compound, which, he gave less of a shit if it was one of the smaller zones, he'd have a bloody nose for sure, and he'd have to make up the supplies they provided, but it would be doable. But the Compound? That was the seat of his power. His fucking throne, and he wasn't going to give up his Queen for his throne. Hell no. Negan was a taker.

 

He was a man who'd have his cake and eat it too. He just had to find a way to do it.

 

You walked up to Gabriel, and glanced at the Savior who brought him in.

 

"He hasn't said a word, believe me, I've been tryin," said the man with a shrug.

 

You cringed and gently pulled at one of Gabriel's hands, who you noticed were kept to his side, and very gently began to roll up his sleeve to reveal what looked eerily like rope marks, or something similar, like something hard had been brought down on his arms in what could only be described as methodical practice.

 

"Gabriel, who did this?" it was Rick speaking, but you ignored him and so did Gabriel, swallowing loudly and audibly.

 

"The men with sticks and rope, I dont... sometimes when people would leave the bayou and you took something, usually supplies to try to make it out in the swamps. They um. They send the men with sticks and ropes... I don't... I never learned their names. But they scared me, it's why I spent...so long there and didn't run sooner. They take back what you took, and you - and you'd face a consequence," you found your voice, but it sounded smaller now, lacking the blundering confidence it had before. Negan, Carl, Simon, Dwight and Gregory had never heard a phrase backed with some ominousness behind it.

 

Men with sticks and ropes.

 

"They'd um... they'd... hogtie you and.. " you cringed and glanced away.  "I only heard the stories. I don't... I never got caught, I don't... no.. shit," you glanced at the Savior, a sort of panic settling in on you.

 

"Did you say he didn't say a word?"

 

"I just thought it was shock or somethin' - seems soft enough," the guy shrugged, gently poking the man in his ribs.

 

"Oh....no, oh no, nononononononono, oh no, this is bad, oh my God, this is really bad. Fuck. Gabriel. I'm so sorry - shit, someone get the doctor, and - fuck. All of the painkillers. The strongest. Oh my God, I'm so sorry, you people never should have been dragged into this. Shit, fuck, shitting fuck!" you cursed, letting go of Gabriel's arm and your face starting to pale.

 

At the clueless look the Savior had, Negan blinked and nodded - realising he was waiting for secondary approval.

 

"You heard the lady, go get the fucking doc!" he snapped, slowly striding up, grabbing Lucille from the side of the box it was leaned against and jauntily wandering over, clearly something had clicked for both you and for Creed, but not anybody else in the area, and he wanted to see exactly what was happening. You reached up for Gabriel - who did not stop you, and slowly unwrapped the scarf, seeing the agony in his eyes as you did, which were shining red and utterly bloodshot, which somehow seemed even more noticeable against his complexion.

 

Your breathing became heavy as you saw a glint of metal.

 

"Oh, nononononononononono," you closed your eyes and felt the last of the material gather in your hands, you stood on tip-toes to do it, and you threw the material to the ground, which, despite being black, was heavy with what was fairly obviously blood. _"Please God no, not this, it's so cruel - you don't deserve... God.... no...."_

 

"They want to send a message. This is a threat, I mean w-what else can it be? They have ELBED hanging over us like a sword of fucking Damocles and now this?" a slight hysteria in your tone as you looked at the frozen agony on Gabriel's face.

 

"I am so fucking sorry," you balked at the sight of him, and threw your arms around the priest, surprising everybody. You squeezed, and when Gabriel very slowly raised his head, everybody saw why. Around Gabriel's mouth were sharp sutures, crossing from upper lip to lower lip, they were precise, but large, and at first, you wondered if it was material, but the way they glinted under the light, it had been metal wire which had been agonisingly pulled through the flesh of Gabriel's mouth, with bits of blood caked around the entry and exit points of where the wire holes had gone.

 

Rick swore loudly, and Carl - his mouth opened, like he might scream, but nothing came out.

 

Gregory screamed, and the Saviors were silent.

 

They'd sewn his mouth clean shut, just to prove a point - and you knew why they chose to do that too, you knew why the Major had - you could just hear his words playing out in your mind over and over again.

 

"He always said.... _if you give me any of your bastard sassy lip again girl, I will sew your fucking mouth shut."_ You gave them all a look which was positively green.  "Creed's not lying. This is the Major's work all over. They're out of Louisiana. They're probably definitely working with whoever this Isaiah is, and we're so...so fucking fucked."

 

 "This is a message. Especially for me. He's saying he's coming, and he'll know I want to stop this any way I can," a bitterness wheedled into your tone - thinking of the fact that they had an incredibly powerful weapon pointed at any number of their encampments, including this one.

 

"I guess he's fucking won. Again. Like he always does."

 

 


	19. The Calm Before The... [Mini-Chapter]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to pump this out so I can focus on my assignments and so the next chapter will be, quite excitedly 
> 
> "All Out War,"
> 
> Look forward to that.

It was a strange thing for Carl and Negan to be on the same page about anything ever, but both of them agreed they didn’t want you canvassing the area. You scowled, and folded your arms in the position that Negan was starting to mentally dub The Brick Wall – because you were often incorrigible when you were like that.

 

“Well unless you want the Compound blown to kingdom come, I don’t see what choices we have!” you snapped.

 

“We’ve got the good shit here, I know, but unless you’ve got a fucking aeroplane or the fucking Blackbird tucked away somewhere I don’t know about, we’re not gonna get an aerial on it any time s—“

 

You stopped mid rant, earning you a series of odd looks.

 

“Scratch everything I just said, that’s exactly what’s happening until someone comes up with an idea that’s not blindly canvassing the entire state of Virginia,” you said suddenly, feeling it hit you like a bolt out of the blue. Gabriel had been taken to the doctor and was getting his ability to speak back, you supposed, letting him go. After seeing his mouth, nobody had anything to say at the urgency you had demonstrated moments prior in calling for the doctor – what happened to Gabriel was just plain grizzly.

 

“I’m going to get status reports from all of the outposts,” Dwight then let out a sigh, because it was a lot, as he included other settlement’s outposts and not just the Saviors. “All of them, for whatever that’s worth. They’ll probably pick up on somethin’ before we do,”

 

“Gregory, you should tell your people to suit up, and get them to start canvassing out east from where you are. I’ve memorised the maps, if you cover east and Hilltop covers west, then that leaves us in a decent position to fan out north and south,” you said suddenly, making Negan look at you in surprise.

 

“When the fuck did you memorise the maps?”

 

“I don’t know jack shit about America and the land divisions, as soon as I was in distance of a map, I drank it in. Uh… don’t know if you forgot, but I’m British. Everything back home was in walkable distance. First thing I realised when I left the bayou was I could walk for fucking miles and be lucky if I even crossed a petrol station,” you sighed.

“Alright, smartypants – what’s this about an aerial position?” he said, trying to keep out the fact he was more impressed than he let on, purely because he didn’t like the idea of the pure depths of your prowess seeming unknown to him when he was now your one and only lover.

 

Christ, he’d dismantled his boudoir and chucked out six women for you. He had to prove he knew you better than this fucking Creed asshole, but it seemed he still had very little idea of just how capable you were.

 

“I need to find Eugene, some of the stuff Creed brought in the truck was destroyed by the EMP but I think because we’re out of the radius zone it might be salvageable? No scratch that, definitely salvageable, I’ve worked with worse. I don’t think he realises just how much shit he actually took, he must have taken, just assuming everything inside it was useless and fried anyway,” you said quickly – seeing that you still weren’t stating your point and were rambling slightly, you sighed and just blurted it out.

 

“Drones,”

 

This earned a bunch of clueless looks except, strangely enough, from Dwight – who seemed to have a glint of recognition of her eyes.

 

“Like, a predator drone?”

 

You snorted.

 

“Yeah as if we should be so fucking lucky - more like CCTV drones for recon. I mean, guys, it was a military base. A stupidly high tech one at that. The U.S was working on some weird stuff man. I don’t even know that ever fully scratched the surface, but between that and the metal and supplies we have here? I think I can bring some of the stuff back online, I just need Eugene’s help.  Anyway, predators are kind of like mini-planes, we had a defunct MQ-9 Predator B at the camp—“

 

Okay, so there was a genuine glint of excitement in your eyes as you spoke, and it was cute, even if the situation was truly dire, and the absolutely lost expressions of everybody showed that they were utterly clueless.

 

“Okay, I’m rambling. Sorry – not the time. Point is, I think I can get something running – maybe a few, that can canvas either north or south and pick up the areas that we miss. I uh, I don’t think I’d be able to get a live feed though, that might be asking a bit much of some of the stuff in the truck, it was prototype grade so---“ you sucked in a breath “-all we need is to be able to send them out at high altitude which, at military grade should be fine. We fly them so high they don’t get shot out the sky – they don’t even get noticed. All I need for it to do is get a constant stream of pictures. I mean, we had them working at base to survey the size of hoards and what direction they came from. They could take coordinates and get around…. “ at the slightly sceptical expressions, you thought you’d give them some examples, but honestly, it sounded more like you were convincing yourself than them. You needed it to work. If you weren’t going to be bait, this had to work.

 

“We’ve mapped about a thousand kilometres of highway in a single night, with over 100,000 images in one week, with coordinates to match. That was one drone – and I think I saw at least three in the defunct pile, now, that plus our guys, Alexandrians, Hilltop – ruling The Kingdom out for a sec considering their scavengers are gone,” you exhaled, feeling the cogs moving and turning in your brain at incredible speed.

 

You weren’t just strong. You were smart. There was a reason you were in high demand – why Mattius taught you.

 

“Okay, but what makes you think you’ll pick up the gun?” said Simon with a frown, making you scoff – but it was a fair question.

 

“I don’t know that I have enough words to describe to you how huge ELBED is, if ‘needs its own crane to move’ doesn’t give you the picture, I’m pretty sure you could see it straight from the goddamn Google satellite,” you paused “-if it was still online. Hell. Might be. No internet now though, which is a bummer. The images we could get – we could set up a damn immediate ping alert every time more than four rotters get in a group,” you snorted.

 

Yeah. You missed the goddamn internet.

 

“I have no idea what any of that means,” sighed Simon “-but point taken. You’d need time to canvas, get the drone back, and review the images – shit, how long would all that take, assuming you get them working?”

 

“I _will_ get them working,” you hissed – if it was one thing you were confident about, it was everything Mattius had taught you.  You glanced at the rest of the men.

 

“But he’s right in that it’s not a time sensitive solution, even if me and Eugene burn the midnight oil tonight and get everything online as soon as a day, two days, three – whatever. We need to hope we have enough time. The only thing we can do is armour up to our teeth and pray,”

 

Negan sighed bitterly – on the back foot. Again.

 

“Then I guess it’s all we fucking do, short of abandoning all our posts,”

 

“That’s our nuke option,” you said pointedly “-we can reclaim things, not people.”

 

Tch. He hated how correct you were but God did he want to shag the life out of you and your big, stupidly smart sexy brain of yours. Jesus.

 

“Well then, you get on that, you smart sexy little she-devil, you. We all have canvassing plans to do,” - before giving out a sigh of relief when you had, thankfully, another plan.

 

"If we can spare some more long-ranges you can get a live audio feed for some of the outposts, right? There's one thing I forgot, ELBED is not a quiet tool, it's a fucking monster, everyone in detonation radius had to wear super reinforced headsets - I saw a set with the autocannons that Creed brought. ELBED can deafen everyone near it, it's like setting off a bomb, and when it lands, it makes even more noise. We wouldn't have a lot of time, it's a quick thing, but those few minutes of evac time, if used efficiently, are invaluable,"

 

Negan stared at you, so did Rick, and everyone else. It was him who let out the long, appreciative whistle.

 

"Evacuation plan, canvassing, got it - by the by, when did you get so good at this shit?"

 

Funnily enough, it was Creed who answered, a shit-eating grin present on his face.

 

"You mean she didn't tell you? She was our Second Lieutenant, first if Sarge is dead. Heh. Second Lieutenant Deadshot,"

 

Well, shit - Negan mused - that just sounded badass.

 

* * *

 

The air of panic was tangible, but if anything it was an organised panic. You didn't tell Eugene why it was so urgent, just that it was, until you found him slacking, and spilled the beans quickly enough. Any awkwardness between you faded at the sight of the CCTV drones, quickly trying to put on new lenses and repair wiring and replace things which had been outright blasted by the high electromagnetic pulse. It was mostly a matter of replacing things which the EMP had damaged, very few things were utterly broken beyond repair.

 

It was, admittedly, a small thing to consider lucky - but seeing how fucked you guys were, being able to say at 4:30AM in the morning that you'd gotten not one, not two, but three aerial drones online to a room of men stressing over a pile of maps and were highly agitated, it was like a welcome sigh of relief.

 

"If we had a working cellular network I'd get us a live feed, but I can't, so instead we're doing it image style. But it works. Images. Coordinates. We can get 'em," he watched as you raised a device which he assumed was the remote, and looked through the controller with your eye and gave him a weak attempt at a smile.

 

"So, where shall my sight be pointed?"

 

"South, we don't have enough eyes there," it was Simon who answered, who recieved the nod from Negan, who was bent over a table - his hands spread over the map at either side - with lines drawn with what you guessed were canvassing routes, the evac plan was apparently left to Dwight, who seemed a little lost, but was able to come up with something - which was better than nothing.

 

"You got all three online?" said Negan skeptically, until said drone, which was about half the size of his arm, buzzed outside and you opened the door, flying it in. It looked like a little monster, if he was honest, it was definitely military, and prototype - because it was not elegant, but it looked kind of bad ass, if he was honest and definitely made for high altitude.

 

"Fucking hell, you clever girl!" he swore.

 

You smirked, unable to hide your pride - this was what you were good at, not just fucking, not just all the stuff that the Major said you were good at. Mattius saw the good in you, and so had Sarge - and now, you were gonna show everyone. You had to show them you were worth it - worth all this.

 

"Eugene's pretty good at flying these things, the hard thing is landing, they'll be so high that hopefully trees and things aren't really an issue - they have to remain in the air at all times until they return here, at which point, both me and Eugene take controls and make sure they land safely - so they'll be a team flying them. We've um, we already went to the trouble of putting one together," you said quietly, expecting some sort of rebuke for doing it without asking, but were met with a relieved smile.

 

You wanted to make him smile so much.

 

"Any word from The Kingdom on their missing guys?"

 

"Nothing," replied Negan "-but if you pick anything up on those little robot things, let us know. Their guys are our guys at this point, so if they're missing, it's all our business,"

 

You wondered briefly, what everyone thought of that - it seemed you really did make things change here. A lot.

 

"I was actually going to get Pulp Fiction questioned in the morning too, Carson removed the sutures so he can talk now," said Negan, wiping the tiredness out of his eyes, which, admittedly were feeling heavy. He was getting far too old for this shit, he mused.

 

You tested out your nickname for him in front of the men, lips twitching shyly.

 

"Um, Gorgeous - it's....it's 4:30AM, it _is_ morning,"

 

Negan swore - but noticed you called him it in public and couldn't help but preen despite himself. You were quiet as you sidled up to him, shyly, in front of his men - putting your arms around his waist. Sure you were good to joke and be lewd, but this sort of thing on a serious level was a little new to you, so you exerted your ability hesitantly, and pressed your face to the back of his leather jacket - being that you were so short. He let out a long sigh of relief, he needed something good to hear - and it seemed this was it.

 

"Alright, Dwight, get Fuller, Chase and... whatever the dickhead with the shitty beard's name is, you know the spread. All hands on deck, we gotta get moving," he said, rolling up the maps authoritatively and dolling them out appropriately.

 

"I'm sorry I got everyone into this," you said suddenly, looking down at your feet with a humble air. "You didn't ask for this. None of you. Now even you handed me over, they want what we have, it wouldn't be enough, I'm sorry,"

 

Negan scoffed, and said something that floored everyone in the room and you too because you didn't expect him to say it in front of everybody.

 

"Even if it was enough I already promised you that you wouldn't go back to those people. I'm a man of my word, I'd rather raze every colony we have to the ground than hand you over. They took you once already, they didn't even get as far as the stateline and they already managed to get on my unforgivable shitlist, what the fuck would they do if they actually got you and kept you?" he didn't bother trying not to sound aghast in his disgust, because he was.

 

You fell silent, your face blushing intensely.

 

"Come on babe, we got a war to win,"

 

* * *

 

 

It was silent for a while, like the calm before the storm. But it gave people enough time to stop being so extremely tense, the Alexandrians, Hilltop and The Kingdom were told to mobilise similarly – though their people hadn’t been recovered. Gabriel had some choice words to say, and even though Negan was not an easily shaken man, there was something about seeing abject despair in the face of a priest to be wholly discouraging.

 

He was, for lack of better word, traumatised.

 

His lips were scarred – so much so that Negan found it a little gross to look at, but with his kind of stomach, was able to do so anyway and hold the man’s stare.

 

“Was it the people my girl said it was?”

 

Gabriel just shivered, looking more through Negan than at him, and not for the first time, he felt his faith shaken to its very limits.

 

“Sticks. And ropes.” He said hoarsely, screwing his eyes shut like Negan had forced him to remember – which he had.

 

“And the Flesh Men,” he added, cringing “-the… flesh men.”

 

Negan frowned, this sounded like something out of a bad horror movie, but his stomach had that familiar dread feeling which he was getting far too used to these days. He looked at the man, and made an effort to soften his demeanour. He needed an answer.

 

“Flesh – all over, stretched. All over them.”

 

“Well yeah, we all kinda have that, what the hell are you trying to get at, Pulp Fiction?”

 

Gabriel looked sick, slowly leaning forward to tell him, fingers digging into the chair in Carson’s operating room.

 

“Dead flesh. Stretched all over them. All over their arms. All over their faces. All over them. Like armour. Dead flesh. _Dead. Flesh."_

 


	20. All Out War

 

Result, a hoard to the north-east that looked like the size of a small town, empty highways, zero sign of ELBED so far, and Gabriel as the only communication with the Major and Isaiah. How much time you had was anybody's guess, and the air was consistently tense. Something bothered you, however - and you were clearly stressed, scribbling away and muttering something to Eugene, who was overseeing the drone team. There was just something fishy about it. Why choose to send such a personal message with Gabriel? Why not go straight for the throat, the way he used to. It was how he loved to do it, he wasn't one to send ominous clues - he just took. Always.

 

"I was told, before they...did that to me, that it could be over, it would be a peaceful taking - if you present yourself to them at the gas station between central and main by the scavenging routes, by the crucifixtion," said Gabriel hoarsely.

 

And then it hit you, and you laughed. You laughed hard - it was bitter and hysterical and relief pretty much poured out of every pore out of your body, you threw your head back and laughed until your lungs hurt, earning you a series of bewildered looks, and for a moment, Negan was worried.

 

"Oh my fucking God. We've all been shitting into our hands, prepared for the nuclear option, and he's been fucking bluffing!" you wiped your eyes on the back of your hand, clutching at your lungs through your shirt. Fucking hell.

 

"What - he sewed the fucking man's mouth shut, how is this a bluff?" Dwight swore, making you shake your head and grin.

 

"I don't doubt that he's moved ELBED 'cos it'd be one of few things that survived the EMP, in fact, I don't even doubt that it's probably somewhere, but let me tell you something about ELBED. When I left, it had two rounds in it, it takes two rounds before it needs reloading. Tell me, if they had two rounds, wouldn't they have deployed one as a warning shot instead of sending Gabriel to us like this?" you continued rhetorically, watching the panic set in at the mention of not one, but two shots.

 

If anything, that made things worse, but you merely grinned, eyes glinting - oh, there had to be one benefit to knowing the Major inside out. Him you could account for, it was this mysterious 'Isaiah' you were worried about that you couldn't think about without feeling your stomach knot. You questioned Creed again, but he really didn't seem to know much, though he wasn't surprised by what Gabriel had said to Negan. Flesh men. That was the only thing he really knew about Isaiah's group.

 

"Fucking two? How does that make any of this better?" Dwight all but screeched - he didn't have the best face on him during panic.

 

"You're not hearing me!" you snapped, resisting the urge to sink your fingers into his torso and shake some sense into the man.

 

"I know the Major inside out, review what you know! I destroyed the entire camp with an EMP save for very few things, right? Creed took the last truck they had that worked, and the trucks that rocked onto Alexandria were all property of Isaiah, right?" you sniped.

 

Dwight nodded slowly, wondering where you were going with this.

 

"He doesn't want to destroy everything, he wants to take it, especially this... Isaiah - isn't he going to want a greater payoff than just ownership of ELBED? To make ELBED a worthwhile investment, they'll want me eventually because I know how to set up, dismantle, repair and reload it. I know it about as well as I know my own body, and there's nobody else left that knows how to, it is SO easy to clog that machine, it is SO easy to damage it by doing something wrong during detonation," you said quietly.

 

"Creed said he hadn't seen any proof of them figuring out ELBED, just that they told Isaiah that they had, so Isaiah would throw his weight behind them, right?"

 

Understanding very slowly dawned on other's faces, and Negan felt a small smile stretching on his face. Of course, in the back of his mind, there was always the possibility of you being wrong, but if it was thing he had come to trust, it was your smarts, because seven Hells - you had smarts coming out of every pore of you in his eyes. You might have even been equal to or more than Eugene, at least, in several other regards, Eugene allegedly had PhDs, you had raw experience, and excelled in many fields that Eugene was too soft for - or just not where his talents had lay - like engineering.

 

"So.... he's....lying?" said Dwight quietly.

 

You snorted.

 

"How can you tell when the Major is lying? Simple, his mouth moves," you sneered "- seriously, if the camp was in that dire straits when I left and then Creed making it worse, why wouldnt they detonate one of ELBED's bombs and use the noise to draw in a hoard? Hoards can be controlled by strategic fire, we've done that - well _I've_ done that before, it's a good intimidation technique, especially without actually taking down one of our settlements which they want formative control over. Remember, they want to take what we have, not destroy it. If they fire at any of our camps as an example-setter, then they basically ruin about one fourth of their own supply. It wouldn't make sense and I know for a fact the First Lieutenant would advise against it too," you said sharply.

 

"Goddamn I hope you're right," Dwight said, feeling slightly less panicky but barely resisting the urge to wring his hands.

 

Negan broke the tensity, letting out that appreciative whistle of his and smiling.

 

"Well then, the best way of testing this is drawin' out this Isaiah, I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement,"

 

You looked wary - any one willing to work with the bayou wasn't necessarily someone you were ready to trust, however, from the outside, you could see how the mere existance of the super-gun would be enough to cave any struggling group's morals, and the bayou had been desperate after you'd gone, enough to move out of state and look for new saltpeter mines and start over.

 

"I'll take suggestions," Negan added dryly "-how the fuck do we lure out these Buffalo Bill lookin' motherfuckers? Do we use their meet point? Shit could be an ambush,"

 

You were blank at the expression, and Negan made a mental note to fill you in on all the classics and things a young thing in the end of the world manages to miss.

 

Dwight slowly turned over to you and made a small motion as if to say "you say it" - but when you didn't, he sighed, because the answer seemed rather obvious to him.

 

"We tell them we have the only person capable of using the super-gun, and call the bluff for a warning shot somewhere it don't matter, and get ready to face a hoard I guess if they decide to do it our way, and if this Major Asshole can't come up with the goods, we have our answer, and this Isaiah guy knows we mean business, and that his bread is buttered on our side, we set up a new location on radio,"

 

Negan didn't bother hiding his surprise, and slapped him hard on the back of his shoulder.

 

"Well, looks like I didn't fry the brain in that skull after all!" cheekily referencing when he held a hot-iron to the man's face.

 

Dwight didn't laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

You both considered putting the message out over airwaves, but a person to person talk might be more convincing, Negan reasoned - especially to prove they really did have you, they could see you in person.

 

Oh, how he damn near regretted that.

 

He had never felt an anger quite like this before, it was unique and powerful, and perhaps as close to the feeling you had when Shax had taken you and filled you with a suicidal sort of rage. He was clenching Lucille so tightly that his knuckles changed colour and for the first time, he had the fantasy of shoving Lucille, barb-end first square up someone's ass until they screamed, and usually, he'd be repulsed by the thought - but right now, he couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more.

 

Formulating contact had been easy, the open radio signal sounded out all day until they responded, and set up a meeting point on neutral highway ground. He was creeped out, he had to admit, when he finally met Isaiah - he still didn't know what the man looked like, just that he had tawny hair and pale skin that peeked out from underneath a greying, rotting sort of mask. The eyes had been cut open deeply to reveal the smooth, pale skin underneath, and vibrantly alive pair of forest green irises staring back at him. Around the mouth, he could see the man's lips and chin clearly, an angular, almost model-like sort of face, hidden mostly under a disgusting layer of death, with everything from lips to chin cut off so that he would not sound muffled. Clearly, they'd been wearing flesh for a while.

 

'Buffalo Bill lookin' motherfuckers' seemed like such an understatement compared to Isaiah, whose arms had stretched flesh on them like bracers, none of it seemed clean, in fact, Negan easily smelt the man before he saw him and they'd gone out the way not to clean out the coagulated blood and rot pockets. He heard Simon curse softly under his breath just looking at him, murmuring 'What the fuck...?' betraying his revulsion despite his cool expression. Rick had been there too, because Negan insisted on dragging him, knowing that for some pain in the ass reason, his presence as a trustworthy adult gave you the kind of comfort that Negan didn't give, because Negan was your lover, and Rick was... fuck, what the hell was Rick Grimes to you? Substitute Almost-Dad? Not even close, but there wasn't any other word for it.

 

Negan stood behind you, his hand on your shoulder and Lucille swung over his left, feeling you freeze over at the sight of the man to the right of Isaiah, somehow more terrified of him than the flesh men.

 

"It's him," you breathed urgently "-that's the Major,"

 

Isaiah didn't say anything about bringing the Major to the meeting, not at all and he felt the heat of his rage overcome him, his vision almost tunnel. He was hearing Isaiah with his left, but concentrating on the Major with the right. The Major was so opposite to Isaiah that it was almost comical, he too was in a three piece suit, much like Shax had been, only his was adorned with rusted military medals, and crusts of blood around the hems, with some of the colours faded from how much it had been washed. It revealed a body only slightly less broad than Negan's own, with a build similar to Shax's in a few ways, and he was definitely older than Negan - with more age lines. However, his hair was much longer, and utterly silver, his hairline was marginally worse for wear but his hair was thick, long and rich, reaching down his back in a low ponytail tied to the nape of his neck. Even his eyes seemed like they had a coal blackness to them, a certain emptiness that couldn't be shaken. If Negan was honest, he kind of reminded him of what Ozzy Osbourne would have looked like into his silver years if he wasn't probably dead, rotting and biting fresh chunks out of every live passerby.

 

"And here is the little troublemaker, no?" said Isaiah, whose tone was... well, creepily warm, if you were honest. He spoke the way adults spoke to children when trying to soften their tone, without being too patronising, you felt yourself want to quail underneath the pair of them, but managed to stay rigidly still.

 

"As you can see," said Negan clearing his throat. "We have her, and we ain't givin' her up any time soon,"

 

Isaiah smiled - it stretched into the flaps of the dead flesh that hung over his face, briefly - the Major did not react at all.

 

"I see that she is the hot commodity of the hour," he chuckled, and even his laugh seemed deep, and comforting - y'know, had he not had a fucking rotting face attached to his own. "I must admit, when the Major sent your priest on his way, I did think he was mistaken when she did not show up as she said she would, he gave me the impression that she was a selfless woman,"

 

He turned his head slowly - too slowly, like something out of a horror movie, and addressed you directly.

 

"Ah, Second Lieutenant, was it?" his tone betraying some light amusement at the title bestowed on you. "I thought that, when you did not surrender yourself to spare this....empire, that the Major was mistaken, and that you would not be here. He sold me a very convincing speech that he knew exactly how you behaved," a small purr to his tone.

 

You felt your stomach knot and Negan's hand on your shoulder squeeze imperceptibly.

 

"Well, I'm here, and he was wrong," you said, finding your voice and willing it not to shake, focusing on the deep greens of his eyes and not anything else, trying to swallow all of your visceral disgust. "-and there are no terms of surrender, just negotiation,"

 

"The lady is correct," said Negan jauntily - and for a moment you were floored by just how he maintained his overconfident bluster and ego even in the face of Isaiah, you were just in awe of him, truly and wished that you could play it off as coolly. "We are not handing her over in exchange for no open fire,"

 

He grinned.

 

"In fact, we want you to open-fire," he said smugly, not bothering to hide his pride in the taken aback expression that the Major donned and the head tilt from Isaiah.

 

"Y'see," said Negan, letting go of your shoulder to resume his confident bluster, speaking with his entire body - swinging Lucille to point it idly at the Major's general direction.

 

"I don't believe you," he said coolly "-we know that you have the super-gun, and we also know it has two shots. I know you assholes want to control production here, or you wouldn't be expectin' terms of surrender," he licked his lower lip and slowly moved so that he was standing at the same distance from the pair you were, silently comforting you with his presence. "You'd blow us to shreds,"

 

"But the thiiiiiiing is," he flipped the bat casually in his hands, smirking at the Major with more loathing than you'd ever seen in his face - ever. "All this builds itself on the belief that you can even fire that fuckin' thing and frankly, knowin' what I know, I don't think you can,"

 

He turned to Isaiah, smirk stretching into a full ear to ear grin.

 

"So, prove it. Fire one of your shots as a warning shot in say...twenty-four hours, and I'll turn over my Compound, it's that simple,"

 

You almost gawped at how much faith he'd put in you, but hid it, staring at the Major's face for any hint of panic - you did however, see irritation.

 

"You are making a very big assumption that my comrade here, is lying to me," said Isaiah calmly, before turning to look at you directly.

 

"And usually I would take this method as one of divide and conquer, except," he glanced briefly at the Major, scowling behind his mask and then back at you. "Major, you neglected to inform me that the Extra Long-Range Bombardment Device had not one, but two shots. What else are you keeping from me?"

 

"Nothing," Negan was struck by how harsh the Major's voice was, it was thick, and had an almost permanent sort of angry pitch to it. "We've found a way to deploy the device, without damaging the engine, but reloading it is entirely another matter, so her presence will be required. She was also the one responsible for noting all of the records regarding the gun, things such as how much gunpowder it requires, details on ammunition craft for it, how often it was fired, when it's next clean and reload was, she conveniantly destroyed those records after she set of the EMP and left us. Perhaps assuming it would ensure us that nobody would be able to pick up where her and the good professor left off,"

 

Isaiah detected the veiled annoyance in his tone, and smiled widely again - and for a moment, you thought he had the sort of mouth that had far too many teeth in, and did your best to look through the holes of the flesh mask into his face instead. He started to laugh - it wasn't quite a belly laugh, but it was close, leaning on his back foot and wrapping his flesh-braced arms around his own torso with a grin.

 

"This little _Reinita_ ," he crooned - naturally bending Spanish into his voice "-has caused you much trouble, I must say, I am rethinking my friends if you are to be so easily dismantled by one young woman," you didn't know what 'Reinita' meant - in truth, your Spanish wasn't great, despite Nina back at the Bayou trying to teach you, you knew maybe a few words at best, but felt the familiarity raise all of goosebumps on your flesh.

 

"She's not just one woman," the Major bit out, his jaw set - you were surprised you didn't hear his teeth grinding in his skull. "She is a specialist. Her kind are harder and harder to come by, as you well know, unless you want over 400 tons of pure metal to be useless to you,"

 

Negan resisted the urge to balk or show any visible reaction, but felt something in his stomach drop now that he had a firm number to go off - the supergun was 400 tons of pure metal? How fucking big and ridiculous was this thing?

 

"Argue the rest, Major. It is time to prove your worth to me, no? I think Negan's proposal is fair enough," he turned to the man.  "Your people have been excellent in the supply of ammunition and military grade weaponary that was still functional, but that's all you've given us, beyond more mouths to feed and more expenditure of effort in the retrieval of your supergun."

 

"I have trusted you on faith after the generous bequeathment of weapons, gunpowder and the explanation of how your supergun works in lieu of a demonstration, but ah," he turned to you with a gentler sort of smile.

 

" _Pobrecita_ , you have no need to fear of me. I am not like my comrade here, you will both discover that I am, in fact, a man of reason, so you may swallow that look of fear, and listen to my offer?" he said, as warmly as he could manage. You felt him raise your hackles up by his strange and borderline creepy demeanour, even if he was being beyond understanding and doing you a service by listening to your negotiation request, but it was hard not to be on absolute edge at the kind of creature you were dealing with. You froze as he leaned forward, his gangly body peering down to at you directly in the face, apparently not frightened by it putting him directly under the shadow of Negan and Lucille, he just smiled at you.

 

You felt yourself turning green, the smell of the rotting flesh now uncomfortably close and getting up your nose, you were used to it, but you had to wonder how he was comfortable having it stretched over his face and all over his nose, it was somehow worse than wrapping a rotter intestine around your neck like a scarf, which, when doing the undead walk - you'd done in the past before your mother turned.

 

Any closer and you were going to feel nauseaus.

 

"Just because you look very sweet, I will give you a little option, no? After all," he glanced up at Negan, the Saviors, then at the Major - and seemed out of everybody, to understand fully just how important of a role you played in this great game.

 

"In chess, the Queen can make any move she wants, and you are, after all, the specialist," he said gently. "So I will give you and your people this offer. If he deploys the supergun successfully, I shall give you and your little empire forty-eight hours to spread the word and negotiate the terms of your surrender. I will, of course, take the little Reinita back to her position as Second Lieutenant, as you have the experience - clearly," you weren't sure if he was making a crack about your obviously muscular form, or actually paying you a compliment based off of what the Major had said about you.

 

"Your Compound will be turned over to the Major due to it's munition core and size for the amount of people he has. Your Saviors will disperse among camps appropriately to facilitate this if they will not aid in expansion, it is that simple. My Cuervos - " you didn't know what this meant, but his men, apparently, were called Crows - or at least, the Spanish word for it. "-are working on clearing a zone as we speak, North of your compound, to facilitate this. 

 

"And you, will manage the supergun on behalf of the Cuervos, I will, at your request - depending on how smoothly the negotiation goes, be willing to grant you some leniancy in the spread and handling of your people. I am not an unreasonable man, nor a forceful imperialist, the world simply facilitates it to be so," he said with a put-upon sigh. "If you do not surrender, I suppose I do not have to tell you Reinita, that we not only have a hundred fighting men of whom you know very well from the bayou, but my men, who I assure you, you would not like to know in the same manner,"

 

Negan scowled up a storm, and decided to speak for you - since it was his meeting, he called it, and while it seemed like he was mostly talking to you, clearly, some part of you had glazed over with fright, and the sight of the Major probably wasn't helping.

 

"And if your supergun is a dud?" he said, stubbornly - a strangely, mocking and almost sexual tone oozing into his immasculation. "What if you can't blow your load, hmmm?" he smirked, somehow maintaining a veneer of being wholly unshaken.

 

You muttered something lewd in response along the lines of 'wouldn't be the first time', and felt the Major's eyes digging into you as you did, and visibly shrank slightly, despite your best efforts not to.

 

"Then I will re-open talks with you, and I shall clean house accordingly," Isaiah turned to the Major "As I do not deal in dead weight."

 

* * *

 

 

 

So that was perhaps far more terrifying than it should have reasonably been, but your lips met with Negan's - and slowly reservations started to pass, feeling his large hands going down your shoulders. He wasn't going to sell you out, not for anything, no matter what happened. He had a chance to, you thought, and he didn't - and you'd even made it easy for him. You offered yourself up like a sacrificial lamb and the first thing he did was dismiss it. You didn't know whether he was brave or stupid, especially for trusting you in the way that he did.

 

Clearly, you must have earned it, as the Negan of a few months ago never would have done this.

 

The rest had been the calm before the storm, the Saviors spent time erecting more barricades and strengthening the walls, with forces from The Kingdom, Alexandria and Hilltop doing the same, it was like one massive cohesive effort to drag up every last reserve of strength the empire had and put it behind the forefront of who they were, ready to withstand a battering. It seemed that the natural assumption that the firing of ELBED would be used to draw a hoard to one of the settlements might not even be acted on, the way Isaiah spoke, it almost sounded like he despised pointless death as much as you did.

 

Ugh, now there was a thought that made your hair curl, not even the man himself so much as just how he presented. The Major was easily worse, but most would assume you fear the man who wore dead flesh like it was in Vogue, but no. The devil you knew was far worse, you maintained. Then - he said the unthinkable, especially with the Major being around. He watched as your face morphed into a mixture of crestfallen and shocked, before something he couldn't quite distinguish.

 

He wanted you to manage The Kingdom.  Simon was taking over the military situation for Hilltop and Negan only trusted you to be able to go in there and not feel like you were stepping into the viper's nest, because, he said -

 

"You are liked. Ezekiel likes you from what I've heard."

 

"I've never fucking met Ezekiel!" you snapped.

 

"Ezekiel knows you though, and he was the one who first mobilised forces to cut off the bayou trucks to get you," Negan said gently, knowing just how to guilt you, forcing you to draw your lips into a thin line. It was the only hint of annoyance, you usually dealt with a man called Demetrius on behalf of The Kingdom when trying to placate relations, which had been strained up until the point Negan had one of his men crucified for killing one of theirs when there was no need. Gone were the days when Saviors would pull up a teenager from The Kingdom and blow his brains out just to prove a point, and when you became the buffer, less people started to die needlessly.

 

So yes, Ezekiel liked you.

 

"And, you have more experience managing things like this than you even really let me know, so I'm trusting you - more than I trust Dwight to do it, and I need him here. With me. I need to stay at the Compound for when it happens, and as a matter of fact, I might even send Rick back to his people in Alexandria,"

 

He glanced at him.

 

"You're a good manager, and there's enough of my boys there that I can trust them to blow your brains out if you turn on them, so take it while you can get it, or I change my mind," said Negan bluntly, and suddenly you felt reality hit you like a cold slap to the face, and your stomach lurched. You pushed your hands against his chest, only it was absent of the light affection that you showed when you usually touched him like this, your nails gently running and scraping the leather of his jacket as you scowled up at him.

 

"This is some bullshit!" you hissed under your breath, not caring that Rick was still there - very slow to leave and not listen to the curious domestic occurring. "What if they deploy ELBED, what if they storm this Compound first? You can't send me away! Shit's gonna go down hardest _here and you know it!"_

 

Negan growled, and closed his eyes, mentally counting to three as he felt his irritation flare, before bringing down a hard hand onto your shoulder, squeezing it and slowly jerking you away from him in a rather impersonal gesture, before bending his knees ever so slightly to look you directly in your stubborn stare.

 

"Okay fuck this. Fuck you for calling me out on it too," he groaned, snarling "-I don't do this self-sacrificing bullshit, it's retarded. Don't you think I want you here? Welded to my fucking hip while all this goes down? Of course I fucking do, I want to protect the shit out of you, but I saw your face when you saw Major Asshole, and we both know the bayou have their eyes set on this place because of our muntions corp and I want you far away from the person who fucking raped you for four years!"

 

You felt your stomach drop, and he seemed to realise what he just said, and then that there was silence between you two. You didn't feel exposed in him screaming it, you had very little in the way of embarrassment left inside of you, and it was just Rick and Dwight and some Saviors whose names you only vaguely knew.

 

"Fuck's sake, I'm not good at this and you know it, stop making it harder than it needs to be," you felt him move his hands, forcing them under your chin so you'd keep looking at him as you glanced away, face morphed into one of slight pain, feeling the heaviness settle inside of you as the realisation that he was actually sending you away finally settled in. You could almost hear Negan's teeth grinding in his mouth, you knew he hated admitting this, not to you, but in front of people, but he'd do it to make a point. You were definitely worth at least that. Even more, if he was honest.

 

"This might be the only non-selfish thing I've done in over twenty years even before the collapse I fucking swear to God," he hissed "-now show me what you've fucking got, go to The Kingdom, and show me how much of a goddamn lieutenant you are,"

 

You kissed him like the world had ended on the spot, because for you, it might as well have - because it might be the last time you even see him, and you both know it. But you're both pretending otherwise, you're both pretending that things are going to go back to the way they were, and that everything was going to be okay. Nobody really knew, but it was clear everyone had to tell themselves that, even Negan, because nobody wanted to fathom the other possibility.

 

You left in a truck, and Negan stared at the clock, counting the hours by the radio, waiting for any signal.

 

_Tick. Tock._

 

* * *

 

The Kingdom had a natural beauty that Hilltop only shadowed and the Compound did not have in any way shape or form. Going there was like stepping into some crudely written fantasy, ripped right from the pages of a book, and it seemed to be how they coped. How they survived. They survived a world with unreal amounts of horror by reacting in a way that was purely unreal and lacking much foundation in reality but were able to sustain an entire system on it.

 

Needless to say, you didn't bother calling Ezekiel "King" - and surprisingly, he didn't force it, even if your flagrant disrespect pissed people off. You managed things well, by the time you had arrived, thirty emergancy petrol bombs had been made and the gates had been reinforced by flat layers of steel you'd had brought from the Compound's metalworks factory to stabilise the zone.

 

"You probably won't see your people again," you had said to Ezekiel "-the bayou aren't known for taking prisoners. If they ended up running on their encampment, then yeah, they uh, they aren't coming back. Saviors had nothing to do with it, I know I told Demetrius and then again on the radio to you, but you deserve to hear it from the horse's mouth," you said.

 

"I appreciate it," Ezekiel sighed - who had actually had the gall to knight you? Was that what it was? Raising his stick down to your shoulder and silencing the dissent of his people annoyed at your disrespect by confirming Negan's authority and saying that you were, indeed, a lieutenant, and were to be treated as such. "This news is grave, as is the supergun. I have seen your evacuation plans, they are quite impressive, you're a formidable force for one of your young age,"

 

You gave him a flat look, feeling like your heart was still ripped into six different pieces.

 

"If it's any comfort, I don't want to be here, stepping on your toes, undermining you. But I don't have a choice," you spat out "-and Negan needs to know that it's not all words, so I'm going to manage The Kingdom just as I'd manage the bayou's second battalion back in New Orleans, and if that's a problem, I don't know what to tell you,"

 

Ezekiel raised a brow, and gave you a strange, weary smile, he could see kindness for what it was, either way, you were protecting his people, how angry could he truly be at you?

 

"I will do whatever it takes to keep my people safe, even if it means humbling myself before others, I may be a King, but I am not a God,"

 

You said nothing - that's what had been happening when it all went down. You remember exactly where you were, where you'd been standing, what you'd been saying, and then hearing a dull noise far off in the distance, and what looked like a familiar great plume of smoke, your stomach falling all the way to your knees. You'd almost dropped on the ground on the spot - because simply put, you had been wrong.

 

Wrong, when you could not afford to have been.

 

Ash had flown in the air, but you knew they'd be more if you had been anywhere near it, the wind had carried it - but wherever the Extra Long-Range Extermination Device had been deployed, gunpowder ash would rain down like black snow. The atmosphere had slown down dramatically, you remember tearing through the outpost and demanding a status report when your radio picked up nothing, almost jerking the man out of the tower with your own two hands.

 

The long-range groaned with static, and then you heard Negan's voice directly, making your entire body almost ache with relief - glad that it wasn't Simon, Dwight or a random mook and grabbed it with sweaty, needing hands.

 

" _Good news and bad news babe. ELBED is fired. Good news. It wasn't at anywhere we care about. Bad news? Buffalo Bill isn't responding. Something's happening. I - I don't know what, I was going to talk negotiation with him after when I said if it was gonna blow successfully but he's not picking up. Something is wrong. I need you to stay where you're safe,"_

 

Wait, what the fuck?

 

"Negan!" you said, pushing the radio close to your mouth, any closer and you might have kissed it, hoping he could feel it somehow.  "Negan, we heard the shot, the second round can be fired immediately unless there's a clog problem, there's no second round, they've wasted their shot!" you said hurriedly.

 

You hoped. You'd already been wrong once.

 

"It's not supposed to rain ash this hard that the wind can blow it south to us if it hasn't had a powder problem," you said, feeling a flake land on your hand as you looked up at the sky - feeling a strange, nervous relief settle over you. ELBED was temporarily no longer an immediate nuke option, you hoped. Assumed.

 

"...." more static noises, and then what sounded like loud corralling and indistinguishable noises of many men rushing to order, and pure chaos. Either way, it didn't settle well with you, not at all.

 

"Negan? Negan!" you called out, twitching and holding your breath until he replied.

 

" _\---tried the other stations, lost contact with Hilltop, so has Alexandria. Stay where you are! Listen to me, babe. No matter what happens, I need you to stay at The Kingdom. I need you to stay where you are and hold one of our settlements at least. At least! Try and contact Rick - get ----_ " more muffled noises around Negan.   " _\--support. More people. Get them to clear Alexandria and come to the fuckin' Kingdom, okay?!"_

You felt that familiar sense of dread as you detected panic and urgency in his tone.

 

"Negan, what's going on?"

 

Muffled noises.

 

 _"Listen, I have men to lead and fights to win, I love you girl, do daddy proud!"_ making you scoff and almost roll your eyes.

 

And then it cut out and you were not anywhere close to satisfied, you felt your heart racing - and in that moment, Ezekiel saw what little he knew of you completely change, like a switch had been flipped and couldn't be unflipped. It was that simple, and you'd only been there a short amount of time. There were a few people in The Kingdom who knew you by name, but everyone knew you by title and face, the few who knew you by name were the ones who went out of their way to do so, detecting the kind of importance you had. Daryl had been one of them, and with him, came a curious older woman who you mentally dubbed Grandma Grumpy until you learned that her name was actually Carol - and though you were diametrically different to a lot of the ideas that came out of the mouth of the black man who wielded the stick, his curious fighting art reminded you deeply of your own - Gatka, and so when you trained, and trained men with you, you found yourself in Morgan's company more often than you strictly meant to.

 

"You're angry," he said to you once. "You're an angry young woman, I would hope that in our short time together, I might be able to change that slightly,"

 

You had responded easily.

 

"Some people are just born with shitty cards, I was one of them. So you could say I was born angry, and now I stay angry, but I'm not irrational, I just have a graveyard full of bones to pick," you murmured, glancing up as gunpowder ash fell into your eyelashes and not for the first time, you tasted battle, only this time - it felt like war, and war tasted like gunpowder snowflakes. Morgan was standing and gazing up at the skies where you were, following your stare and feeling a strange chill settle over him, you weren't the only ones either.

 

Ezekiel joined you, and Carol - his tiger had been growling apparently, and reacted very negatively to the distant sounds of ELBED's deployment, like it could detect that it was the sound of pure war.

 

"But you're so young," Morgan murmured, and sighed in a way that sounded much older than he was, and somewhat put upon.

 

"That's how it's going to be now," you said quietly. "It won't matter how young you are, in this world, if you live this long - you will come to have more enemies than friends. You will always be dwarfed by the amount of things that want you to die. And you will always be fighting,"

 

You felt Daryl's penetrative stare at the back of your head as you said that, but none of them disagreed with you, but each felt the burden on their shoulders get heavier hearing it out of the mouth of youth themselves.This was Enid, Judith and Carl's future, if Dwayne had lived, it would have been his future.

 

Morgan would have given anything in that moment to have his son, but for a second, and not for the first time, he wondered if his family had the easy way out.

 

"Little Bird," you held out the long-range and gave it to Daryl.  "Try and get contact with Alexandria and get as many people over here as we can, something is....wrong, we can't establish contact with the Crows either, something is very wrong."

 

Carol raised a brow, and called you out on it, or Daryl, you weren't sure.

 

"Little Bird?" she said, her tone didn't betray anything, but there was a curiousness - you just shrugged.

 

"We kept him in a box like my grandma's budgie. He looked about as sad," you commented dryly, before shooting the crossbow wielding man with a rather cheeky smirk - now he finally knew the reason for the wholly unfitting nickname and didn't bother protesting it, he just let out a small scoff. "Shake-a-leg, I need to go to the armoury and check our inventory then assemble the vanguard at the gates to let everyone know that ELBED's been deployed,"

 

You inclined your head at Ezekiel out of some small, slightly forced respect, even if you didn't buy into his King bullshit, you could at least buy that he was a good man. They couldn't, for the life of you, understand how you were so calm, they were panicking inside, and nobody knew what was happening, in truth, you didn't either. Seeing the artillery, it wasn't anywhere as good as the Compound, and it was mostly bladed and blunt weapons, but they did have guns, and plenty of them once the Saviors had reinstated the arms rules after Alexandria had been stormed.

 

Daryl found you as people gathered at the gates, running the length of The Kingdom and assembling people the old fashioned way. Yelling - gathering people out of their jobs and out of their homes to follow you down the road. Your hair blowing in the wind, you were whistling loudly and authoritatively, two fingers in mouth with a large bayonet attached to your back. Out of all of the large guns you weren't too fond of dealing with outside of the heavy military grade items from the bayou, you could say you really enjoyed the bayonet, as once it ran out of bullets, it doubled as a good blunt weapon with a detachable blade to assist with your kirpan. The sledgehammer was like the hand of God in the way it just descended down on walkers and destroyed everything in its path, but required both of your arms, so you had the bayonet strapped over it awkwardly and were walking like it wasn't a tremendous weight on your back, when it might have irritated even some of the smaller men.

 

"Can't get contact, radio silence," he said, handing it back to you, you frowned - and tried the Compound again, only to hear more muffled noises, which was at least better than nothing, so you clipped it to the side of the belt you'd commandeered off of Rick - mostly because you needed something to support your kirpan holster as the straps were getting weak, and he had a fair few belts.

 

"Alright, Daryl, Carol - I think you two should go to your people in Alexandria and get some boots on the ground there to find out what the fuck is going on. Negan wanted some of your people down here - as many as possible to support our vanguard, because we think they've set up camp south of us so if they come up anywhere, chances are they'll have to come through us, but if nobody is picking up..." you trailed off - before addressing the people at the gate.

 

"Okay, we have a problem!" you bellowed, glancing over at the sea of barely familiar faces. "The supergun has been deployed, that black shit falling from the sky? That's gunpowder. The good news is, it only fires two rounds and the fact there is so much ash the wind has blown some of it to us means they've managed to clog the motor, the bad news means that we were supposed to negotiate terms of surrender with the Cuervos and the Bayou - but nobody is responding. We have a resounding issue of not being able to able contact anyone. The Compound hasn't even been able to establish with Hilltop anymore, meaning something is happening,"

 

You sucked in a sharp breath.

 

"And we do not know what. But what I do know is, we have to be prepared for the worst while we try to get contact. I need all of you to tool up in the armoury with some guns and to secondary all of your blades of choice. We're lucky if the dead are the only problem we have. So grab your guns, I think we'll need them,"

 

Muffled noises - and then, your belt started talking, or rather, your radio, silencing your speech for a moment. With a frown, you answered it in front of them, as they had the right to know what was going on.

 

More muffled sounds "- Dr Eugene Porter - lieutenant, are you there?" you quickly unfastened it from yourself and brought it to your lips as he hesitantly called you _'Shegan?'_ \- loudly enough for people to hear, desperately trying to get your attention.

 

"Neck-Curtain, it's me, report?" you said urgently, feeling your heart jump into your throat.

 

"---we got us a problem here, Ma'am," panic wheedling into his strange, flat monotone way of speaking, enough that you could almost detact the man's trembles despite not being able to see him. "-There's - there's ash everywhere. Black snow. Hilltop is gone, we don't know... we don't know anything!" he cried out.

 

You snapped down the line loud enough for some of the vanguard to flinch.

 

" **Pull yourself together Porter**! **_We know!_** **What's happening down there?** " you fucking never called him by his last name, so that seemed to snap him to attention.

 

Muffled noises - and gunshots, making you damn near flinch and wish you could somehow turn the radio up any higher than you already had it, as though fiddling with the dial would somehow tell you what was happening and distinguish the clusterfuck of noises down the line from the Compound.

 

"- _they're coming,_ Negan's gone. I don't - I don't know. H-Handlebar is at Hilltop - so... God, where's Rick? Where's anyone?" muffled noises. "-Outpost said trucks are coming. Lots. So many. Ma'am I'm scared. I'm really scared."

 

You clenched, remembering Negan's words, but Eugene saying he was gone was fighting your every urge to listen to what he said and maintain The Kingdom at all costs, conflict rising on your features as you glanced at Carol and Daryl for a second, noticing they were listening with more intensity than anyone, as Eugene was one of theirs.

 

"Eugene Porter, I need you to ..." you went silent for a moment, the cogs visibly turning behind your eyes, before feeling a lump of sickness settle in your throat, like your sixth sense that something was even more wrong than a simple lack of communication started to spike up.

 

"Eugene, what kind of trucks?"

 

 _"I don't know!"_ he cried down the line. _"Big? Armoured? Th-the watchmen said they have spikes all over the front,"_

 

You felt something in your gut sink and you didn't even bother to hide the panic in your tone, biting down on your lip.

 

"Listen to me Eugene, I need you to - I need you to go to the munitions factory, take all the guns and ammo you're comfortable with and hide. Whatever happens, whatever you're doing. I want you to go down the sewer grate around the back of the factory to where The Box's are and whatever you hear, I don't want you to come back. And whatever happens....Don't make a sound, okay?"

 

Carol looked at you, a frown settling on her face.

 

"What's going on? Why are you telling him to do that?"

 

_"T-thank you M-M-Ma'am. Over and out,"_

 

You looked at the no-nonsense older woman and started to think that your mental nickname for her was highly accurate, and clipped the radio back to your persons and folded your arms underneath your chest, ready to pace up and down the length of the assembled vanguard.

 

"That's the bayou, no doubt. We haven't been able to establish contact with Isaiah and the Crows for terms of negotiation, and they're going through him, not the Major or any of his people, so - " you felt it hit you like a brick to the head, and nearly crumpled.

 

"Fuck," you cursed, before snarling louder _"FUCK!"_

 

"They're not going to let us surrender, if we can't establish contact with Isaiah and his people then we have to assume we're dealing with the worst of the worst. If people come, Crows or not, assume everyone is the enemy!" you barked out at the rabble of fighting folk, poor excuses for soldiers, but the best you'd have, and they were definitely capable.

 

"I had a suspicion so I told Eugene to hide, I'd tell him to come out if we could contact anyone and get a status report on Isaiah and the Crows to talk terms, but I know the Major and I know - shit, I know how they work. We have to assume that's what we're dealing with, because this is them all over, right down to how they outfit their trucks once they get their hands on them,"

 

You turned to Carol and Daryl.

 

"You two take a truck to Alexandria and contact me every hour until you get there and let me know what's going on - it shouldn't take more than half a day if you don't stop, I'm going to take half of the vanguard with me, but I don't want to leave us undefended so I'll be handpicking who comes with me," you turned to one of the older Kingdom members who'd been personally agitated with your presence telling them what to do, but knew for a fact they managed scavanging runs and were therefore at least decent in strategic leading, and at the moment, that's the best you could hope for.

 

"Carter, you're in charge while I'm gone. Radio me if there's a problem," you said, before turning to the lineup of ragtag fighers, swallowing the thick fear and looking at them with a steely eye.

 

"Okay. It's now or never. We're going to the Compound and we're going to see what the fuck is happening for ourselves,"

 

"Weren't you told to stay here?" said one of them, only for you to snap. You knew they weren't filled with excitement about defending Negan's Compound, but they knew if the Compound fell, so did everything else, and there was no earthly way the Kingdom would hold out on its own, the only reason it even had was through negotiating, so when it came to people who didn't negotiate, it was war, pure and simple.

 

_'Listen to me, babe. No matter what happens, I need you to stay at The Kingdom'  
_

 

Yeah fuck that. He might have been the love of your short life. Fuck. That.

 

"While Negan's MIA, _I am Negan."_ You barely recognised your own voice as you snarled, echoing the mantra of the Compound but with more meaning than anyone else had ever uttered the phrase, bringing the man to heel under your stare.

 

"And I'm saying, we take the fight to them instead of sitting here with our legs open waiting to get fucked by the second lot of trucks, got it?! These assholes, _**they took your people**_ , and you will never get them back, so you should be jumping down their throats, yanking my arm off to fight them, foaming at the fucking mouth even. So yeah, be pissed. Be ready. This is the only chance we have."

 

Nobody said anything, and you began pulling men and women out of the line, one by one.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Fucking hell this was smart. Really smart. You hated it, because it was the Major all over - thank God you knew how he thought, otherwise, you'd be fifty shades of all kinds of fucked and they'd be no way to get out of it. The truck was skidding down the road at intense speed, mowing down the occasional walker with the bumper and sending trails of blood skidding down the asphalt for miles on end. You were an aggressive driver, and if any of them were scared, they didn't show it. Every hour or so, Daryl radioed in to let you know they were safe and hadn't been picked up by any enemy forces, but they'd get to Alexandria long before you'd get to the Compound.

 

In truth, you planned to set up slightly east in an area that you knew to be hard to peer over even from the tallest outpost and try to see what you could see in terms of encirclement around the camp, though there was still a chance you'd be spotted driving up, and you knew this, but you'd taken the risk anyway.

 

You knew you couldn't run down too many walkers, because if they got under the wheels it could make the truck completely stop like when Danny had to stop back when you took down his truck. Guts would get stuck on the underside and if too many got under the vehicle, it'd turn over. You swerved violently now and then to keep the truck from turning over. blood flecking onto the screen. You cursed violently and put the windshield wipers on, smearing maroon across the window.

 

Then you heard a loud bang, and felt the entire truck dip one side, the men scrambling around in the back.

 

"Fuck! What's happening?" one of them screeched.

 

"I blew out a tire I think?!" you said in a panic, eyes widening, you were sure you hadn't hit anything. "Road's clear - I don't --- FUCK EVERYONE GET DOWN!" you sank in the drivers seat as much as possible, until your head was level with the wheel and you could no longer see the road - which was dangerous, but your senses were sharp, because you heard another bang, and the the window shattered, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut as you felt glass rain down on you.

 

The window had been shot out, and then another tire - and finally, you felt a shard cut your scalp through your hair, and finally, you swerved violently, losing control of the truck. You heard a loud shriek and the sound of the tires screeching, and metal scraping along the road so loudly that you were sure sparks were flying from the rim making contact with the ground. You heard several screams, and suddenly, it was like all of gravity was pulling you in one direction, like someone was using a gigantic magnet to the left of you and you had no hope in hell of fighting it.

 

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt a stabbing pain, the sensation of something cruching against your face and waist, and the truck rolled over. There was a flood of colour in your vision, suddenly overwhelmed by a limitless blackness, and all of the noises in your ears cut at the same time, like someone brought their hand down on the vinyl and didn't even let it screech to a halt, just violently turning the sound off to the whole entire world.

 

Everything had turned into one big, black hole, and pain started to reverberate through your body, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd died.

 

The blare of the horn was the first thing you could hear, a constant stream which was like a groan, probably attracting every walker in the local radius, or worst - even in your destroyed state, your body fought to get you standing, you struggling to breath against a soft, overwhelming material. You frowned, and felt it pushing against your chest and your face, letting out a small noise of pain - you realised you had to move whatever was making the horn go off.

 

' _Have to...'_

 

You felt something inside you crunch, and it fucking hurt.

 

' _Stop....'_

 

You felt an aching pain all over your body - shit, did you have whiplash? You might actually have whiplash, it hurt to move one side of you.

 

_'Noise...'_

 

Forcing an eye open, you saw the material was white - and slowly recognised it as an airbag, and just as you had done so, the horn stopped. Everything stopped, and felt someones arms all around your torso, gently pulling you out of the truck with an inhuman amount of grace and strength, and a sharp pain in your neck after your body revolted in complete pain, and you let out half a scream, your mind delirious and barely able to get your open eye to stop blurring and find the strength to stretch open the other.

 

Maybe it was one of the men in the back? Maybe they'd survived and were pulling you out...? You thought deliriously, before the chilling memory of gunshots rang in your ears and you felt that hope die, before feeling the pain in your body reverberate once more, and a familiar voice you couldn't place speaking at you as the chilling and too-known sensation of a stabbing pain in the back of your neck, and you wanted to scream again, only for it to die in your throat.

 

"You're going to feel a sharp pinch."

 

Pleasure, or at least, relief, ran through you, down your spine and into your brain and every part of your body until it sagged as though someone had reached into your mouth and yanked your spine from your throat, leaving you a boneless, gelatin mess in the arms of whoever picked you up. You had maybe a precious few minutes of lucidity, but as your heart started to pound, it faded, and in a much less sudden way, the creeping blackness returned, filling your open eye with darkness over the blurred colours until you saw nothing, and realised it had rolled into the back of your head again.

 

Then there was nothing.

 

You had to have been out for a day, at least. You felt your body aching and all of the blood flow going down into your shoulders in a familiar sort of aching agony that you associated with hanging from the bombardment device's specialised crane. When you opened your eyes, you did half-expect to be dangling over a pit of the dead, but you didn't smell them - nor did you find yourself particularly high up - your feet were touching the ground, you realised, deliriously, before letting out a deep moan of pain. Your fingers had definitely gone numb, you'd clearly been in this position for a while, with both wrists tied together high above your head.

 

You heard several familiar voices, but found your eyelids to be tremendously heavy, and faught to wedge them open even slightly, peering at blurred figures of everybody's form through your eyelashes and wiggling tiredly, feeling your body hurt as you did so.

 

"... you're awake? Oh my God, you're awake," you heard a sigh, a strange, vulnerable relief in a voice that you weren't used to hearing it in.

 

You slurred horribly when you tried to respond, your tongue feeling impossibly heavy.

 

"Nngen?" you managed, squeezing your eyes shut again and your entire head feeling heavy, so heavy that you don't know how your neck didn't snap under the wait of it, a small relief at hearing his voice. Your head lolled to the left with a painful click, leaning against your shoulder. You wrenched your eyes open and hissed at the dim light that invaded them, blearily looking across the room. It took you a moment, but you realised you were in the generator warehouse, because you could smell the coal fires from the open incinerator which was left open from the last person who loaded it up to power some of the things over at munitions.

 

You saw the familiar jacket first, and then Negan's face - and frowned, seeing some of it was swollen, and that he had a black eye that was so bad one of his eyes was sealed shut.

 

"Negan?" you made an effort to speak more clearly, eyes squinting in pain but concern visible in your voice. "Wah 'appened?" the words didn't come out clearly, and were closer to a drunken slur, but he seemed to understand, and smiled wearily at you.

 

"It looks worse than it is," he said, watching you glance over at the room and feeling your heart plummet as you laid eyes on Carl, Gabriel, Michonne, Rick, Daryl, and Carol. Daryl and Carol came as a pair, as much as Michonne and Rick did, and Rick with Carl, then Gabriel as one of his people - it fell down like a house of cards, enabling each other to be captured as a group.

 

Okay, you must have been out more than a day, and let out a noise of confusion, weren't Daryl, Rick and Carol supposed to be in Alexandria...? What....?

 

They were all tied up too, hands high above their heads to pipes, not dissimilar from your own setup, and they all looked uncomfortable, in varying amounts of pain, or beyond angry, which was understandable, they'd all been captured, but why? To your left, you saw some of the men you'd picked out from The Kingdom, who honestly looked like they'd been beaten to holy hell, and all of them were still unconscious, leaving you under several burning stares.

 

"Alessandriah...?" you slurred, looking at them in confusion, body racked with pain as whatever you'd been dosed with began to wear off. It was surprisingly, none of the people you laid eyes on who spoke, but someone on your right, a direction you'd been unable to move your head in from sheer pain, but the loud, snarling, unremitting harshness woke you out of your stupor like a cold bucket of ice.

 

A familiar, stereotypically thick Russian accent rolled over you.

 

"Major's now," he said harshly, making you flinch and snap your head with a painful, loud click that made Negan grimace.

 

"Sarge?!"

 

Your eyes laid on the familiar, well built, tall figure of a man you hadn't seen in a while, and he hadn't changed a bit, at first. He was still in battered militia gear, boots up to his knees no matter what the weather, and tawny hair shaved with only thicker sideburns to show, and an impossibly firm jaw, and even stronger eyebrows. He wasn't ugly, despite the choice of look, but everything about his features were severe, even his nose, he was the kind of person that - upon looking at him, was very, very military.

 

"Sarge! What - whasshappenin?" still fighting the slur.

 

His accent sharpened all of his S's into Z's, W's into V's and so forth - and there was no real inflection to his tone, it was just one, consistent snarl almost, but it filled you with warmth. The only person you loved more as family than Professor Mattius, had been Sarge. You felt your eyes start to warm at the sight of him, even if your head and body ached with confusion, fear and bodily injury.

 

"He waited for your friends. He want them by name," he turned his head to your group and inclined it once at Rick, silently recognising him as leader besides Negan, without even having to be told. "You have.... what is word... defector?"

 

He licked his lips.

 

"Piece of shit. He watched you, long time. Told Major things. He wants to hurt you, so he took your new friends captive," he gave you a sympathetic, and somewhat tired smile, not an expression often adorned on the man's face. "He is angry over EMP still, fry whole camp. You clever brat."

 

You flushed despite yourself, you could count on one hand how often he flat out had complimented you so bluntly, even though it was your so-called cleverness which led to this personal vendetta, as if the Major wasn't obsessed enough with you as it is, you just gave him reason to pick up sticks and follow you.

 

"Why are you here Sarge? I thought..." you trailed off, only for him to laugh bitterly.

 

"You know I do not like Major Cocksucker," though it came out a little bit more like 'zucker' - the insult was lost on nobody, most were silent, watching your interaction curiously. They'd all spoken to him already while you were passed out, and didn't know what to make of him, so it was a quiet session of judgement, watching how you two spoke and what you spoke about. "When he team with Isaiah, I side with Isaiah,"

 

He paused.

 

"Then he betray Isaiah. But you figured that out," he snorted.

 

It was Rick who pierced through your conversation, sweat lining his forehead with his own hair, curled against his scalp as he had clearly struggled a fair bit and faught tooth and nail with his own capture. You wagered they'd either been surrounded, beaten, taken in one by one, or dosed, how you were. The Bayou were good at this - sickeningly enough, Major was excellent at it.

 

"Where is he, do you know?" asked Rick, making Sarge shake his head negatively, and you flinched, finally seeing the other side of his face.

 

His mouth had been cut open from the right side, completely cutting up through his cheek and showing several of his teeth through his skin, it was sickening, but a sight seen more often on the dead than a living person, and on Sarge's face, your eyes had been stuck to wide in sheer, tangible disgust, mixed with horror, before dread settled inside of you.

 

"Dont worry, looks worse than is," Sarge smiled, mirroring Negan's words, making you cringe - no way. No fucking way.

 

Much to your regret, fear made itself apparent in your tone, as just how fucked you were started to dawn on you.

 

"Sarge, what's going to happen now?"

 

He shrugged, and stared out blankly ahead, he wasn't going to lie to you, he never did, but the truth was an ugly one, and the group only had a vague idea of how nasty the Major was, they were awake when he cut open Sarge's face as payment for siding with Isaiah.

 

"I do not know Matryoshka," he said with a sigh, which was something he hadn't called you in, well, years. When you were a lot younger, due to your shortness, he used to name you after those little Russian dolls that got smaller and smaller, and jokingly would call you it every birthday you managed to recognise, joking that you never got taller, only smaller.

 

"But we know what Major is like when angry. He still want you, so he will come. Supergun is broken. He will try to break you, as he often tries. He is like old dog. Cannot be taught new trick. His cruelty is familiar to us, yes? So we will be okay,"  he looked at your friends and shrugged from his binds, stretching his tremendous shoulders with several clicks.

 

"He may kill friends though. Just to hurt you. Be ready."

 

You wanted to scream, but instead fell silent, staring out at all of them, and feeling the guilt almost suffocate you.

 

"How were you captured? I told you to stay at The Kingdom," Negan groaned, though he was relieved to see you alive, he looked at you and saw your head cut open slightly, and your entire body racked with an invisible pain he couldn't pinpoint, and with your slurring earlier, you seemed worse for wear. "What happened?"

 

Your voice was hoarse still, but you gave him an apologetic look, hanging your head guiltily.

 

"Got radioed from Eugene. Got worried. Had a bad feeling when we couldn't contact the Crows. Was trying to sneak over with one truck and a few good men, got shot down on the road. Truck turned over," revealing you had been in a truck crash, making his eyes widen with tangible concern, not something anybody in the room was used to seeing on Negan. "-Drugged. In neck. Stop me bleeding out so quick. Standard Bayou practice," you groaned, feeling a bandage around your abdominals.

 

" 'm fine,"

 

"Bullshit," Negan sighed bitterly. "Fucking. Bullshit," turning to Sarge with a burning stare.

 

"Whose the traitor?" he said, almost hungry for it.

 

Sarge shrugged, making his chains clink and furrowing his heavy brows, trying to describe the man.

 

"Black man. Very blue eyes. Tall. Name began with A?"

 

You felt like you'd been punched in the gut, there was one guy who matched that and the very first thing you'd ever notice about him was how his eyes glittered like diamonds against the rest of his skin, and of course, it was fucking Aaron. Why the fuck would he defect? Why? He was your friend! Or at least, you thought he was? The bayou, what did they promise him? More power? Women? Yeah. Probably women.

 

"Fucking Aaron!" you flinched - hearing Dwight's voice but unable to turn yourself to see wherever he was. Huh. Turns out he was captured too. They really did hunt everyone you liked by name, you were glad you told Eugene to hide, and that Carol woman was probably just dragged along by virtue of attaching herself to Little Bird.

 

Fucking great. None of this was fair - just as you were about to talk, it seemed the noise attracted attention, and heavy footsteps rended the room silent. You froze, hearing the door open with a loud, metallic sliding noise, and then sliding shut again. You turned your head with great pain and instantly regretted it, feeling fear and agony sweep you once more, you started to chew on your lip on instinct, a tall man filling your vision from head to toe, drowning the room out for you.

 

It didn't matter that you were surrounded by people you cared about. The fear was always so much bigger.

 

"I see that Sleeping Beauty has finally awoken," you felt a chill overcoming you. "My, what beautiful people we have here today," he chuckled, eyes going over everyone - hanging on Michonne for a moment, then Carol, then you, smiling in such a way that you felt your heart wanting to fall out of your body.

 

It was the Major, and typically, he fucking won. Like he always did.

 

"Lets have a heart to heart."

 

* * *

 

 

"Well if it isn't Chuck. Fucking Chuck. Chuck the Fuck. How ya doin'?"

 

When you saw his stare linger on Michonne, you remember snarling derogatorily at him, and straining against the pipe, feeling your chain hit it and demand all of the Major's attention. You felt your stomach tighten as he neared you, the smell of death intensifying. Looking up at his face, you saw the familiar mask of flesh stretched over his face, you wagered, as a message to Sarge that Isaiah was truly gone and to all of the resources he'd forcefully taken from the Crows, he was probably ruling them now, you mused. It was a power play, but the smell of death and rot clung to your nasal cavity as you felt the Major walk towards you and press himself close to your face.

 

The mask stretched over his nose and the eye holes were deep, revealing his bottomless, black stare, his lips free, just as Isaiah's had been, but you cringed - feeling the dead flesh brush against your skin as he kissed you through the mask, a rising bile in your throat as you swallowed audibly, trying to stretch your aching neck away from him. Oh God. It was disgusting. Major was disgusting, you felt your chest get heavy the closer he got into your space and you could see the seething rage bubbling all over Negan's face as you stared at him, your eyes frozen in mute, open revulsion.

 

"I see you've kept that mouth dirty," he smirked, before turning to Negan as he heard the man angrily thrashing against his chains, his wrists brought forward and strangled by the metal, so much so that he'd actually cut them, and he could see blood forming around the binds.

 

Instantly, it clicked with him, as did the over familiarity when you'd met them at the crosspoint to negotiate with Isaiah.

 

"Ooooooh, I see, I understand now," mocking oozing into his tone. "Have you been keeping her warm for me?"

 

Negan snarled viciously, it was a noise you'd never heard, his whole body was covered in a sheet of sweat as thick as Rick's - his face was angry too, and mostly everyone was uncomfortable, disgusted, filled with horror and anxiety or blank in an attempt to not betray the fact they were terrified about what was going to happen. What the Major was doing to you psychologically was horrible, but at the same time, none of them wanted it to be them, and with a seed of guilt, Michonne could tell from the look in your eyes that you purposefully engaged with the Major just to keep them all safe.

 

Rick knew it too. They probably all did.

 

**" _I'M GONNA TEAR YOUR HEAD OFF AND SHIT DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU DEAD."_**

 

They'd never heard Negan scream before, never ever, and frankly, neither had you. It was enough to make you shudder, seeing that the man was giving into his more imbalanced side, even at Alexandria when Rosita had shot at his bat, the rage that had surfaced was nothing compared to this, even when he smashed a mailbox out of pure anger when Shax had taken you, it _quailed_ in comparison to this. Major scoffed at his threat, drawing out a long handgun from his side. It was an elegant looking thing, but it had a long barrel, reaching at six inches, it was a fourth generation Glock 40, it had high velocity, slightly better precision, and best of all? A suitably intimidating look.

 

You almost screamed thinking he was going to point it at Negan, and when you opened your mouth, a half-uttered "Don't" came out before you felt it in your mouth.

 

You froze.

 

Whatever the Major was going to do, you didn't expect it to be this. his thin lips drawn into a smile as he gave out a deep, rasping chuckle, his angry pitch had taken on a different sort of tone. Instead of meeting Negan toe for toe with rage, which you expected, he instead stuck the gun into your lips, and gently started pushing it in your mouth. He smiled more, turning his head over his shoulder to look at Negan, whose chest was rising and falling steadily, his whole body taken with heavy breathing that was literally belaboured by anger.

 

You cringed, feeling him root the gun around your cheeks, and push a little more of the barrel in, resulting in a small gagging noise as you choked and spluttered around the gun, covering it in a sheen of saliva that made the metal glint under the light as you forced your throat to relax and felt him push it in deeper and deeper until it hit the back of your throat and there was no more gun to swallow, he forced you to deep-throat it, making your cheeks flame up in instinctive embarrassment from the intimacy of the action, especially as he began to gently rock it in your mouth.

 

"Maybe I'll blow her brains out just for that, y'know, after she's blown mine. She's pretty good at it, see?" he smiled, glancing at the disgust etching itself onto the faces of more than just Negan now, directed utterly at the Major. "I'd rethink how you talk to me if you really care about her y'know. I'm just gonna teach her an itty bitty lesson, that's all. If you're lucky. Some of you might even live! I'm feeling rather nice today."

 

He was humiliating you, and it was starting to show as you squeezed your eyes shut and felt something warm racing down your cheeks despite your best efforts not to. You knew he liked it when you cried like this, and you always fought tooth and nail not to, preferring your whole body to go limp instead of cave to your human emotion, but doing it in front of non-Bayou people? People you cared about, whose opinions actually mattered? It was horrible, it was like how punishment used to feel, way in the beginning.

 

He was making you suck his gun off and you were fucking humiliated, and it was showing.

 

"Stop!" It was Carl's voice, but you heard the Major laughing. Eventually, he pulled the gun out after dancing his fingers over the trigger, but made a show of pulling it out of your lips slowly, showing off the trail of sizeable saliva from the barrel to your bottom lip.

 

"You're sick in the head!" Daryl snarled, no matter how rough he seemed on the outside and how scantly he knew you, the dejection was hitting too, something about your vulnerability just hurt, and nobody could stand it.

 

You hung your head with embarrassment, your ears burning as you looked at the floor.

 

Negan had never seen you look so ashamed and it made his chest hurt just seeing it, every part of him that didn't want to kill the Major made him want to break free and scoop you up into his arms and squeeze the daylights out of you, it was a feeling he didn't have often, but since admitting to loving you, he had to admit, he'd felt it more than once. The Major whistled jauntily, leaning on his backfoot and walking around you, gently wiping at the blood on your forehead with his thumb, where the truck crash had cut you open.

 

"See, I'm still kind of awful mad honey, y'know? You did ruin my entire camp with your EMP. All of it. All four years of work - _my work -_ just wasted to shit, so much high grade tech, just gone, and then your little boyfriend runs off with my gear, and then... gosh, you just love twisting the knife in don't you? Burning the supergun records? You're a gutsy little pixie, aren't you?"

 

You hated it when he called you pixie.

 

"And see, before I let you be anything close to my second - well - first lieutenant now that him over there decided to turncoat, I need to remind you of your place before I trust you again. See, the gun is clogged, but you knew that. And we need you for a bunch of other things that the good professor can no longer do, which, you also know, and now? Well, you know this camp pretty good, and as it's our new home..." he whistled "I'll probably have a few more uses for you,"

 

You cringed as you felt his hand go down the small of your back in an overly intimate way, but were unable to find the will to hold your head up and look at the judgement or expressions on any of your friends and acquaintences faces.

 

"I've taught you a lot of lessons over the years, but you still push me back on every little thing. It really is very annoying, so I thought - I'll give you the lesson to end all lessons, maybe I'll do it in front of all your lovely friends who've come to _respect_ you, so they know exactly what a...." he trailed off, tilting his head left to right rather playfully as he sounded out each following.  "Dirty, little, slut that you are."

 

Oh, hell no.

 

"So maybe I'll make the Russian turncoat Sergei do it!" he said cheerfully, raising the gun and playfully pointing it between the Russian's eyes, but the man didn't flinch, he just clicked his aching joints against the chains and pipes and snarled at the insinuation that putting a gun to his head would make him do anything like that to you, a girl he considered himself having mentored and half-raised.

 

"After all, I should probably teach you a thing or too as well, being that you turned on me for Isaiah and all. But whoooooooooooose surprised that the fucking Russian defector who ended up working for the US after World War II ends up defecting again? Once a traitor, always a traitor I guess," he said, rolling his eyes.

 

He swore violently at the man, pushing his forehead against the head of the now somewhat wet gun, sneering and spitting in Russian "- _my teeth to your neck,_ motherfucker!" following it immediately with English. "Shoot me first xyecoc!"

 

"Ah, there it is. Sergei Sokolov, fiesty till the end, I'm going to miss having you as my first lieutenant," he said, lazily drawing the gun back up, before quickly bringing it down, aiming it at one leg, and pulling the trigger suddenly, causing everyone to flinch and an ungodly scream to leave the man's throat in surprise. "But I can honour a veteran's wish," he grinned, watching blood begin to pool around the man's shattered knee, seeping through the trouser leg at amazing speed.

 

Surprisingly, he did not pass out, the veins in his neck pressing up to his skin as he snarled in pain.

 

"I'll switch off your lights later, there's something I'd rather like you to see," he sighed, turning his attention back to you, silently packing the gun back into his holster and folding his arms beneath his military medals which you often wondered if they were even his. You cringed as you felt him moving your clothes, whistling jauntily, he paused, before reaching under the blazer of his suit and revealing his belt, which had made the blazer jut slightly, revealing a long belt.

 

You cringed at the familiarity of the belt.

 

"Awh, I see you remember this little thing," he held up the belt, which, in every unused belt loop, and several more punctured along it, long, silver, some rusted, some sharp, blood crusted nails hung in each one, he made a show of presenting it to the other's captured and smiled at them. Negan cringed, it explained some of the marks on your back, and he was for a moment, almost glad you didn't tell him every punishment you'd ever had, but now part of him needed to know, he wanted to understand your suffering, _he deserved that suffering,_ deep down you were a good girl and he was just _awful_ \- watching the Major do this to you, he couldn't help but feel like his organs were being crushed by a fucking vice, and if God wasn't dead, he was definitely laughing at him.

 

This was what it took to make Negan human. Pathetic.

 

"For every person who tells me to stop, they'll get hit by daddy's belt," he paused "or maybe she will, I haven't decided yet,"

 

It was Rick who spoke, almost gagging on his own horror as he stared up at the man, unable to blink. He tried to liken the situation to being on his knees and watching Abraham and Glenn die, he tried to liken it to being caught under Negan's Lucille, but this? This was different, it was its own, prolonged, _intimate and humiliating_ kind of horror, a violation of humanity, and about the only thing Negan had ever got right was that he didn't do shit like this. To Rick, it was his only saving grace, if the man had any, and the look on Negan's face was enough that for a second, he empathised.

 

He empathised with the man who had beaten him down and murdered his people, because Rick Grimes was a far better man than Negan could ever hope to be.

 

"You don't have to do this," he said "-I'm sure she gets it - look at her, she's terrified. You don't have to... you do this, and you won't be able to come back from it, I know that,"

 

Yes, Rick Grimes was begging for your dignity, and your life, wincing and looking away as he heard him moving your chains and freeing your arms, allowing them to sag at your sides, your whole body too weak to move and still addled from the drugs, you crumbled immediately on the ground, and grimaced as he threw you onto your chest on the mechanical work table, where you'd put generators when they broke.

 

"Ugh, I told him not to use that much of the good shit when they brought you in. You're like a fucking wet noodle, I like it when you move a little," Major sighed, somehow, you felt sarcasm able to bubble in you, only to be met with a harsh smack.

 

"So sorry that my body is responsive enough after a truck crash and your fucking knuckledraggers shoving drugs into the back of my neck," you sneered, only to feel him thump you up the head so hard that it banged violently against the table.

 

 _Yeah, he was like Shax when it came to that - like father like son,_ you thought bitterly. You felt him drag your head up by your hair when you stayed down, not wanting to look at anyone - oh no, he wasn't letting you bury your head in the table just to spare you. Fucker. He wanted them to see your face - your misery - it was a power play. This was a power tool not just a pleasure one, and he was going to housebreak you - properly this time.

 

"I have had enough of your lip to last me a lifetime!" he snarled, making your ears quite literally ring with the force he hit you. If you didn't have a concussion from the truck crash, you were certain that this would have done it. Every part of you wanted to fight like hell, like it usually did, but the drugs had left you slow, and your body not willing to respond with any real speed or any real strength, and without being held up by the chain, your whole body felt like a mess after the crash. You were sure nothing was broken, maybe a fracture? You didn't know, you just hurt, and the drugs made you feel like shit.

 

You grimaced and kept your eyes closed as he held your head up by the end of your hair, tugging it harshly. You knew he did it on purpose so they could see your face, and with horror, you realised you felt the radio on your waist switch on to static and cringed, hoping nobody would speak down the other end, the last thing you needed was them finding Eugene.

 

You heard the sound of Rick's people struggling, you could hear Dwight's breathing and Negan banging against the chains, blood starting to pour down his muscular arms.

 

One of them screamed at him not to do it, a female voice - an outraged one, was that Carol? You didn't want to open your eyes and see the look on their faces, and true to promise, you felt several things push and lightly puncture your back, which felt like it had been slapped by the hardest whip known to man - it was the familiar sensation of the belt, the pain distracted you at least from the sensation of being entered with force, and you again, not for the first time, wish your thighs were somehow strong enough to fucking snap the man's cock clean off.

 

But right then, you were lucky if you could clench a fist, though you felt more feeling return to you with every passing few minutes, granted most of it was pain. The moment the nail belt made contact with your back, and you felt the blood coursing down it, he'd ripped open the back of your shirt like a candy wrapper, the loud tearing was the only noise you heard before you felt the belt, and that made your eyes fly open and your jaw slack and a scream leave right from the base of your diaphagram, echoing through the room and forcing you to take in the blurry sight of Rick's and yours people.

 

Negan was struggling, blood was pouring down his arms from where the binds were cutting him, he almost pulled the industrial pipe off the wall, and was struggling valiantly, eyes unable to leave your body, which, with horror, you realised, were suspiciously shiny. You turned to Rick, who was looking in mute, frozen horror, his shoulders trembling - Michonne was screwing her eyes shut and trying to listen to Gabriel's string of murmured broken prayers as he looked away, chest heaving in agony, and Carol was looking at the Major's knees, unable to look away, but unable to look at you. You were rather glad you couldn't see Dwight or Sergei from this angle.

 

Little Bird - Daryl - he was fully taking it all in, just like Rick and Negan an--

 

Fuck. Carl.

 

Big Blue.

 

You could see his chest rising and falling with speed, it looked like a panic attack, but his face was blank, and his working eye was focused on your face, and you forced yourself to look at him, and found your voice when you stopped crying out in pain, feeling your body lurch forward on the desk with familiar sickening rhythm. You could have switched off and dealt with it like business as usual if this was all it was, sure it was horrifying and you'd be wishing it was Negan and wishing he was loving your body, making you feel like it was worth something, but being humiliated in front of him like this? And everyone?

 

Rick, Carl, Carol, Dwight, Daryl, Sergei, Michonne, Gabriel, Morgan - some of your vanguard who were stirring awake, you could almost feel your dignity getting flushed away with a literal toilet sound in your ears. Your whole face had turned red with shame and embarrassment, your whole body cringing as much as it could as Morgan balked and looked down at the ground. Even the noises were too much, he had to close his eyes and hum just to stop from focusing on it.

 

Major knew that this was how to break you and he was doing it because of what you had done to his paradise.

 

Catching sight of Carl, you felt the dam inside you break a little more.

 

"Close your eye Big Blue," you rasped out hoarsely, feeling something warm course down your left cheek, watching as he refused to even blink, frozen in the same horror as his father, he remembered almost being on the receiving end of this as a child and not understanding, he remembered being saved before it was even an issue, and he remembered hearing about this in passing, knowing what it was, the concept of it - but seeing it? Especially to someone he really, really cared about?

 

You watched Carl shake, and you watched as he threw up down his front, his whole body caving to trembles.

 

"Close your eyes and count backwards from one hundred sweetie, it'll be over soon,"

 

You didn't recognise your own voice, and they could hardly believe what they were hearing - it was enough to break Negan, and Negan was not a man easily broken - because _you were so used to it you had a fucking mental exercise designed to fucking deal with it and it wasn't fair because you shouldn't be! You shouldn't be used to it and it shouldn't be happening! Not now_. _Not again. Not ever!_ You found yourself looking at him as he finally stopped clattering his chains, the silence of it gaining your attention, and your heart sinking all the way into the floor. He wasn't even ashamed, or embarrassed, he couldn't feel anything but a foreign anger and a feeling like he was failing right at that second to protect you, like someone was shredding every part of his soul into billions and billions of pieces, dunking them in kerosene and setting him on fire.

 

He looked at you getting raped by the Major and felt himself burning alive.

 

He loved you - _loves you -_ and he couldn't help but think he'd rather have been shot through the fucking head than see you go through this one more fucking time, and being helpless to save you - after he promised, _he promised -_ nobody was going to take from you ever again. Every part of him wanted to say _fucking stop, please stop, I love her,_ but he couldn't bare to hear your scream again, none of them could, they saw you bare the brunt of the consequence of them begging for you to be spared. So they couldn't even do that. It was killing him.

 

So yes, there were fresh wet tracks on his face, racing down his firm features and meeting at the underside of his stubbly chin, falling into heavy drops.

 

You'd never seen Negan cry, save for when he didn't want to blink just so he wouldn't miss the sexual torture you were putting him through, hungry to drink everything you did in to a point that they'd slid from his eyes, but never, ever, in all the time you'd come to know him intimately, had you ever seen Negan cry. And sure, he wasn't shaking with sobs, but he didn't need to, because his face had completely crumbled, and it was enough to make _you_ crumble, and wish the Major hadn't done this in front of him. You might have even been able to stomach it if it was everyone else, but not Negan.

 

Rick saw it too, the people who looked up saw it, and they did when the noises of you being shoved against the table and grunting stopped, and none of them could comment on it. How could they? It was such a strange expression, such a naked expression of heartbreak, that for a second, all of them, even for the briefest of moments, forgot what Negan had taken away from them, and their hearts felt heavy.

 

Because Negan had just had something very precious taken him from him too.

 

So you started to cry, finally. Horrible, full-body, ugly, snotty crying until you felt him finish and it was over, and him drag you back to the pipe, not bothering to pull your trousers up properly and leave the fly open and them half-raised over your hips, like you were a Christmas bauble as he got his own radio message and gave you a put-upon sigh, fixing the front of his trousers and calmly putting the nail belt on as though discussing the weather, like he hadn't committed an atrocity in front of several people.

 

"Now.... think about what you've done." He glanced at his radio "-That's the ball and chain, you know what she's like. Should pop off before she gets jealous."

 

In that second, you wanted to die, and felt it all come crumbling down. Images of you running across the training grounds with a kalishnakov, like you were born for it, felt like they'd been flushed. Images of you training, lifting heavily, pulling your body up a bar, doing chalk-handed press-ups with Carl sitting on your back counting them had washed away. You showing Negan how to block an uppercut, washed away. You wielding your Gatka sword bravely, washed away. You defending the bayou from the first herd before ELBED was online, washed away.

 

Wielding the 30mm autocannons on your first herd. Gone.

 

Firing ELBED at your first hoard. Gone.

 

Professor Mattius dubbing you Deadshot out of pride from how good you were at using the industrial guns. Gone.

 

Sergei calling you his clever Matryoshka. Gone.

 

Leading The Kingdom's vanguard. Gone.

 

All of your many, many memories of reflecting personal strength felt stupid and like they didn't matter, because deep down you were just a stupid little girl. In Major's words - a stupid little slut was only as good as he made her, you were good because of the opportunities _he'd_ given you, and this was a lesson for your obstinence. This was because you rebelled so much, this was because you had the nerve to turn around and bite the hand that fed you for four years. You were greedy and lucky in getting Negan to "capture" you - you hadn't deserved any of this. He shouldn't be crying for you. None of them should be.

 

You wanted to cover your face with your hands as you cried, hanging stupidly from the pipe, unable to even stand on your short legs anymore, instead, you were just dangling because your knees buckled, like some horrible blow-up doll pinata, swinging, and occasionally dripping blood from your back, with the front of your underwear on show.

 

When the Major left, you heard your radio cut, and you kept on crying.

 

"It's over, he's gone, I'm so sorry, I said - fuck - I promised you - I'm sorry," said Negan quietly, hanging his head. The shame was tangible in his voice, it wasn't something any of them had heard from him before, and with context clues, it was fairly easy to guess what he'd promised you. That this was never going to happen to you again, and it did, and he felt ashamed. "Please don't cry, not when I can't pick you up. Please,"

 

It was stupid, if there was any time to cry it was now, and you deserved to cry in Carol's opinion - a lot, but nobody was going to tell him not to say it, it was clearly breaking him into pieces more than everybody else combined and him begging you to stop was his way of coping, but hearing him be _soft_ and talking about holding you, that was new, he didn't usually do that in front of people. Flirt? Sure, grab ass? Sure. Sexy stuff? All the time, but when it came to pure, unfiltered, romantic feeling, he didn't do it in front of people. But he'd been broken by it, and he didn't fucking care anymore.

 

You were his girl. His only girl. Fuck the rest and whatever they thought.

 

It was surprisingly, Sergei who snapped - his tone so loud, so angry and so harsh that Rick rebuked him and Negan screamed at him to shut the fuck up, but the Russian didn't care, he turned his head to you angrily, and he sneered, disgust filling him fromt head to toe.

 

"Is this it then, Lieutenant?" he spat out, his tone, strangely damning.

 

You looked up at him in confusion, feeling your bloodshot eyes ache as you did so, and snot dripping into your upper lip as you did so. You were disgusting, and you were weak - and you were breaking down in front of everybody that you wanted to admire you and think that you were fucking worth something.

 

"Is this what I wasted four years on?" he repeated.

 

"Wh..aht?" your voice crackled out, hoarse - your throat felt like it had a bone jutting inside of it, making it hard to speak from just how much your body lurched inside and wanted to shake you to death with how badly you were crying all over the place. Negan had seen you cry, but never quite like this, close to it - in the truck with Shax - but not like this.

 

"Did I teach you this?" he said bitingly, making you look at him in confusion over the pain.

 

"Go easy on her," Daryl muttered, brows drawn into a scowl, but he was ignored. Sergei seemed to not give a hot shit about Rick or what his people had to say, even Negan - especially when speaking directly to you.

 

"Did I teach you to snivel and cry like pussy?" he snarled, making you flinch and look away - as if you weren't ashamed enough, it made Negan snap, only for him to roar back than he'd known you for longer, which fucking stung, because it was true, and nothing was stopping Sergei from tearing you a new one right there on the spot despite what had just transpired.

 

"N-no..." you whimpered, splitting your bottom lip on it as you chewed it.

 

"So why are you doing it?" he said flatly, glancing at the fact you were dangling like a hock of meat and he managed to give you a look of such disgust that it set his split-open mouth bleeding again, making you cringe again for what felt like the millionth time as your thighs ached. "Stand on your own two legs, you are not a hock of meat hanging at a butchers,"

 

You looked at him in a mixture of raw pain and disbelief, he was actually shouting at you - _shouting at you! -_ and you were used to Sarge shouting, you really were, but even after this? Really? You searched the Russian's face for any sympathy or empathy and were met with a hard expression of righteous anger and disgust.

 

You realised that his eyes were bloodshot too - or at least, his left was, and chances were, he'd blown out a blood vessell behind one as the Major had mounted you - and it only served to make him look more intimidating in his anger. You looked at your shaking body and willed it stop, but it wouldn't, and tried to firm your feet against the floor, only to feel your left leg buckle hard before you even tried to put all of your strength on it, pain aching in your legs, and most of it weakness from the drugs, you told yourself.

 

"Can you make a fist?" Sergei asked suddenly, making you frown and weakly manage it over your head - you couldn't before, but you could now.

 

"Then the drugs are wearing off and you have no excuse!" he barked.

 

You hung there, looking defeated, and frankly, it pissed him off.

 

"Easy Ruski, she just... you were fucking here just now, right?" it was Negan who spoke, in abject disbelief, he knew what the man was doing, he figured it out eventually, but his heart ached for you and the last thing you needed was this asshole screaming orders at you, and for once, everybody actually agreed with him.

 

"Ja," he snapped "-And I know for a fact she can bounce back because that is what I have raised her to do. Are you telling me I have wasted four years of my life training you? Stand on your own two fucking legs I will not fucking repeat myself!" he snarled in his slightly broken thickly-Russian English in such a way that even Michonne felt herself flinching, and she was not a flincher. You tried again, and felt your legs slip from under you - you had cried a lot, you didn't even know you still had it in you to do a full-body cry, and your organs felt like they'd been put in a blender, this kind of humiliation had to be for the final circle of hell, because you ddn't know how you had a fucking hope of raising yourself above it.

 

" _LISTEN TO ME!"_ Sergei snapped, feeling his eyeball ache - oh yeah, he was not in a good fucking mood.

 

"There is a reason I put time into you and not that shitstain's daughter, Riley. I saw something worth training and I'm looking for it right fucking now, and I'm struggling to see it so don't you dare told me I wasted my fucking time or we might as well all roll over and let Major fuck us, shall we?"

 

"Fuck you Ruski!" Negan snarled angrily on your behalf, who was, surprisingly, met with Daryl Dixon, who responded somewhat similarily - what he just said was not okay. Not in anyone's books, but you could feel the man's words filling you from head to toe, and somehow helping you will your body to stop shaking. He did this back when you couldn't lift your sledgehammer properly, when you'd get lost in its momentum, he would scream and you and have you keep on getting up even in the face of impossibility. It took days of being embarrassed and hard training before you did it, but he'd done it, and he was going to do it again, even if it killed him, because funnily enough, Sergei Sokolov loved you like you were one of his own.

 

If he had ever sired a child, he'd have hoped they'd have come out at least half as well as you did, not that he'd ever admit that, of course.

 

"I'm not strong enough," you cried out pathetically - you'd not heard yourself sound this whiny in a long time either -  looking down at your knees occasionally knock together "-and it hurts," and holy fuck it did, not anywhere near as badly as it had with Shax, because to put it simply, the Major just didn't pack as much, that said, it still fucking hurt, as your body hadn't been anywhere near aroused enough and he might as well have fucked a vice.

 

Sergei didn't brook his tone, or soften it in any way.

 

"You and I both know you have overcome worse. This looks like a pity party to me Matryoshka, and in case you haven't noticed, we are very up shitcreek as the Americans say, so save it for when the war is over. Make no mistake, brat, this is what war looks like in this new world, and you are in it, whether you like it or not,"

 

You swallowed thickly and your knees trembled as you stood on your own two feet, wincing and willing them as much as you could to stop, but the point was, you were standing, and not sagging and falling into your tears like you were moments prior.

 

"Good," said Sergei sharply, then glancing at your hip where your kirpan was, and then at you with his bleeding face focused entirely on you - smiling in such a way that it revealed the rest of his teeth that weren't on show.

 

"You told me you were good with the weapons I gave you because you were trained as child, yes?" he said, making you nod, sending flicks of bodily fluid onto your flannel as you did so, you weren't sure you were very good at talking right then. "You told me that your people were warriors, fighting with those knives for hundreds of years. Knives and swords - against people who would make the Major look like mewling child, yes?"

 

You somehow found it in you to school a look of surprise, making him smirk.

 

"The Mughals? The battle of Gujrat, Peshawar, the Afgans, the Katoch, the _fucking_ Angles,"

 

"I paid attention and did my homework, I chose you because you were strong, you have hundreds of years of it in you and you proved it with a sword so don't give me this snivelling pussy bullshit," he breathed out heavily, hearing footsteps in the distance as he was closest to the door - and he too had a familiarity for how the Major worked, as well as his wife, and could tell exactly who it was before the door was anywhere close to being slid open.

 

"So when that fucking bitch comes in," he snarled "-because _I HEAR HER COMING,_ so on form! _Now._ _"_

 

He saw your knees about to buckle and instantly you straightened up in a manner that was frankly fascinating - like a soldier being demanded to attention.

 

"Go for her _FUCKING_ neck _-_ like a _REAL FUCKING. SIKH. WARRIOR,"_ he hissed with anger and urgency, searching for the fire that had been stoked within you when you had flown for Shakil's eyes in pure rage and used his head like an eraser, he was searching for that rage that he knew you had to overpower how broken you were, to rise above everybody in the room and to keep you good and strong, because after the storm that was the Major - it was always Evelyn that followed.

 

And true to form, she did.

 

* * *

 

 

She was a tall and graceful woman, the exact opposite of you, pale and striking - her whole body feeling like it belonged on a catwalk for people that were designed to be literal walking clothes hangers, she didn't have much flesh on her at all, much thinner and less wide than you. Your body was thick, strong, short and powerful with more to grab and your skin dark, eyes young and not riddled with crow's feet, you were her opposite in every way, and she hated it.

 

She knew that this would be the first thing Chuck did, and though she understood why, she didn't like it.

 

So now that they had a new camp, the very first thing she did was send her daughter Riley to hide out in the Alexandria safe zone now they had taken it, leaving her to finally deal with the annoying thorn in her side that was you. Of course, she found you tropical and beautiful, she hated it as much as she loved it, having run her own nails down your most intimate areas and claimed you just to excite her husband - she was rather sick of the game and part of her had been relieved when you finally left.

 

So yes, she was annoyed, and had your kirpan in her hands, brazenly taking down your trousers.

 

"I knew this would be the first thing my husband did," she sighed. Her hair was cut into a bob, and she looked almost Cleopatran with the kind of severity of her features, looking at her, you could easily see her squeezed in cocktail dress, entertaining at dinner parties before the collapse.

 

"For the life of me, I really don't know why he's so hung up on this little slut, I really don't, you think he'd get bored," she said passingly to the people in the room, ignoring the venomous growl it emitted from Negan. She looked at you, and she smiled gently, looking at your snot covered upper-lip and bloodshot eyes, but you stood firmly as you stared at her, feeling Sergei's stare and his words from moments earlier filling you from head toe, searching for that fire and stoking it viciously.

 

"But I've let him have you around for - God, four years, for the sake of my daughter. He's a little sick, I know, but the things we do for love, eh?" she said dryly - you figured that shit out a long time ago. Riley was a younger Evelyn, and it didn't surprise you if the man had disgusting thoughts about her, you were the replacement, you were the thing that was allowed to be hurt, the source of excitement, the distraction.

 

Riley knew it too, it was why she always said sorry to you after.

 

"But now I've got somewhere safe to send her, you don't really matter - well - your secondary purpose doesn't really matter, you're still maddeningly useful," the woman sighed, but she was so tall that she had to bend down, running your holy knife gently down your body and stopping when she reached your exposed thighs with a wicked sort of grin. "So I suppose it's about time we had the kitty fixed, no?"

 

You didn't know what she meant, but when she pressed the knife's flat side against your inner thigh, you felt a small noise of horror leave you.

 

Oh yes. Evelyn was much more creatively cruel, it seemed the others realised too - because you weren't the only one screaming, and she just chuckled, moving your legs over her shoulders in what was easily a very intimate, sexual position once she had shoved your trousers down mercilessly into a puddle on the floor.

 

"I'm gonna give you three guesses where this holy little knife of yours is going to go,"

 

You saw Sergei nod out of the corner of his eye - and that was that. You had no idea how you were going to implement this, your original plan was to get her close then try to knock her out with a kick to the head, but this was perfect, you could really actually follow the man's direct verbage, and go for her fucking throat. So you did. It was a quick action, you gathered all the strength you could find, searching inside of you, and pulled your body up to the pipe with your hands and arms dangling over your head with all the strength you could manage.

 

The metal dug into you first, it hurt, and you trembled trying to hang your body this taughtly, but you did so, searching for that anger that had helped you take down Shax and his tremendous body. If you could do that to him, you could do that to this skinny bitch - you thought viciously.

 

You didn't recognise your own voice, but it sounded like when you had been surrounded by what you thought was the enemy, and asked them to simply come for you, ready to die.

 

" _TRY IT,"_ you screamed, feeling a stabbing pain in the meat of your thigh as her flailing hand deftly stabbed you and drove half of the blade into it, forcing you to scream and throw your head back against the wall with a loud bang, screeching loudly " _YOU FUCKING GERMAN BITCH!"_ You drowned out everyone, it was like, for a merciful moment, they weren't there - and all you could hear was Sergei egging you on, adrenaline helping you ignore the knife hanging out of your leg and squeezing the woman tighter and tighter, searching for that foreign strength as you pulled your entire body as tightly as you could, before violently jerking upwards and to the left as much as you could. You locked Evelyn between your legs with her face at your most aching area, and nothing short of God was going to get her out from between you, strangling at her neck with all your thighs could muster.

 

It wasn't like the movies, snapping a neck by tearing it off the vertebrae was not an easy feat, but this definitely helped her suffocate. You watched as her pale skin turned puce, and then purple, and her lips started to go blue, her eyes now straining like golf-balls, it was practically cartoonish, at least, this up close it was, straining against the triangle choke of your thighs, you squeezed, and you felt the urge to spit.

 

So you did, directly onto her hair.

 

_"...FUCK... ALL OF YOU....FUCK YOU... FUCK YOUR HUSBAND... FUCK YOUR BAYOU.... I killed your Shax, and I'll fucking kill you too!"_

 

If you thought you'd had enough before, you definitely had enough now, and eventually, her eyes rolled into the back of her skull, and you could feel her body going limp, struggling to get air. You made sure she hadn't just passed out, you aimed to fully suffocate her, with Sergei prodding, encouraging you to stay like this for as long as your body could before he was sure she was dead, and eventually, he gave you the nod, and you unclenched your legs, your entire body sagging, unlocking your legs and letting her fall onto the floor beside your trousers with a graceless thump.

 

You shakily stood on your own two legs, and looked at Evelyn, your heart pounding.

 

"Fucking hell," it was Negan who spoke first - staring at Evelyn, then you.

 

"She's going to turn," it was Daryl's hoarse tones that brought the group out of shock, as you winced and tried to actually wiggle the kirpan out of your leg, only to cry out that it was in too deep. Negan glared at the woman on the floor, feeling the rage that had been burning from his hours settle, and then simply waited.

 

"What if that guy comes back? He'll be pissed," it was Carl who spoke, and you looked at him and spoke in a shattered tone.

 

"Maybe, maybe not. He's a fucked up complicated asshole. But Little Bird's right - she's gonna turn,"

 

And turn she did, in a few moments, she started to moan, and her teeth started clattering as she opened her mouth and made empty biting motions before she fully opened her eyes and slowly shambled to her feet - perhaps entirely close to you, making you kick her back slightly, only for her to stumble and not fully fall.

 

Shit.

 

Dead Evelyn was as much of a problem as alive Evelyn, especially like this.

 

Negan whistled when he saw her going for you - he whistled her over like a dog and started cursing at her, willing everyone to shut up and violently swearing, clattering all of his chains to make her turn around and pay attention to him.

 

"C'mere bitch, c'mon doggy, woof woof, come to papa. Come on. Get away from the love of my fucking life. Come on, come get some!" he snarled, apparantly also not caring about calling you the love of his life in front of people he spent subjugating and putting on a persona of strength. Oh yeah, Negan was way past giving a shit about that, at this particular moment in time. It worked too, and to be honest, despite feeling bad for him, nobody was ready to feel too bad if Evelyn took a solid bite out of Negan, but the man just smirked, his swollen eyes now shining with hatred, and he lifted his leg up, and with all the precision he could muster - and strength - violently kicked her in the direction of the incinerator.

 

Her body fell backwards into it half-way, her arms flailing up against the roof of it, apparently, too dumb to wriggle out of it and stand on her own two feet - which was good, because a shambling on-fire walker while everyone was tied up like lambs to slaughter was not a good idea - but Negan had kicked her hard enough that she almost entirely fell in, and instantly, the room was filled with the scent of burning flesh, and all he could do was watch, and laugh.

 

He only stopped laughing when he heard the door open, and dread washed over everyone again - but surprisingly, it wasn't the Major.

 

Nope.

 

"Fucking hell, Creed?" you said, turning your aching head to look at him. He grinned, despite looking shaken, he didn't need to know what happened, he'd heard enough of it from his radio, and waited for people to leave before he snuck in, sliding the door behind him with urgency.

 

He ran over with a pair of powerful chainlink cutters and went for you first.

 

"Mullet let me out of The Box cos he heard me screaming in there, I didn't know what was happening I just heard noises," he breathed out in a panic "-if they knew I was here they'd kill me anyway for defecting. I heard - me and Mullet - the radio, I had to.."

 

He shuddered and cut you free before moving to Negan and not missing a single beat.

 

"I had to come back for you this time," he said, before turning to the other people.

 

"We don't have a lot of time, we need to get you to the grate and get out of here, a bunch of Saviors managed to escape already - the rest mowed down some of the Bayou but they're kind of...winning up there, with the Crows, anyway. I got some weird incoming message from another camp? Saying they're coming to help? I don't know, I just know we're all fucked,"

 

He cut them free and instantly, the first thing Negan did, was go over to you and put his tremendous arms around you, lifting you up - it's all he wanted to do the whole time, besides wring the Major's throat and torture him for a few years, so he did. He picked you up despite the strength you just displayed and let you put your aching head into his chest and neck, not caring what it looked like to Rick's people, or that Carol had taken Daryl's pilfered crossbow off the table and was pointing at him, not missing a beat.

 

"Kill me later, I don't fucking give a shit but she needs me," Negan snarled "Right now you need all the help you can get old bitch," he said, before glancing down at you, feeling you grab a fistful of his jacket in an admittedly childish way. The adrenaline was quickly draining from you now, and you felt exhausted from what you'd done - and you wanted to get away from the fucking smell. It was, surprisingly, Daryl - who had enough reason to want to put a bolt through his skull, that violently slammed his hand down on the bow and had Carol shoot the ground near his feet.

 

"He's right, look at her anyway. We don't like that son of a bitch but we like her. She wants him and I don't think killing him is gonna make her any good to us. I like her anyway, - we like her more than we fucking hate Negan so lets fight about this later, okay?" he said to Carol desperately, only for her to stare at him a long time, and then at you, then at Negan - a man she didn't really know - who did a horrible thing to her friends that she wasn't truly there for - and then Daryl - who'd suffered first hand, who still had it in him enough to forgive him in the moment.

 

"Fine, but we have to move, now," said Carol urgently.

 

"Waaaay ahead of you old lady," said Creed, fingers pressed against the door and sliding it open to see if anyone was around. "Let's go!"

 

* * *

 

Watching Negan handle you was purely fascinating, the man who had laughed and driven his barbed wire bat right through two of their friends and killed so many allies didn't even seem like a human being, but he did right now, and Rick's group weren't quite sure how they felt about it. Creed was leading everybody to Eugene, with only a few dead walkers littering the mostly empty, pitch-black sewers, it seemed that Eugene had found a comfortable, none too deep nook that could fit a fair few people in without worrying about it being bottomless and a walker coming out. Just to be sure, Eugene sealed the main sewer grate as best he could with some of his jacket and did his best not to piss his pants when he saw the group bring down Negan and Dwight.

 

It seemed the dynamic had changed a lot.

 

Sergei's presence was a strange one, and Eugene found himself warming to the man, likening him to a Russian Abraham, it both made him ache for his friend and also be filled with a sense of calm that came only from being protected by people braver than he was.

 

Still, the group sat apart, Rick's people on one side, and Negan's on the other - unfortunately the more unconscious vanguard you simply had to leave behind, there were not enough people to drag them out and you had a very small window of time to escape down the sewer.

 

"I know the sewer maps," said Dwight quietly "I can get us out several miles from the Compound if we have enough light to make sure dead don't jump us. We cleared a lot so there might not even be any, it was one of the evac plans we drafted, remember? I had some guys clear the path in case, so any more dead would be new ones, and maybe not many,"

 

Negan swore with relief, and Dwight felt that at least he wasn't going to get killed by Rick's people the second he had his back turned, because now he had a use.

 

"Is she okay?" Rick asked, the first to come over, you clenched Negan tighter, and glanced at the knife in your leg - which Sergei was taking over, but you only really liked Negan touching you, so you stubbornly sat on top of him as you all sat on the metallic floor, crying into his chest as the man yanked it out and tutted. Usually, unless you were a medic, advice was that you absolutely did not yank out something like a knife or a bullet, but Sergei being Sergei, back at the Bayou he was the closest thing to a doctor they had and had his fair share of experience in the wars and during training.

 

You cried into Negan's jacket as you felt the pain in your leg, only for him to gently bounce you - wary of hurting you after everything, hushing under his breath before kissing you through your hair - again, not caring that he looked like he was possessed by a completely different man when he did that.

 

"It's all over now, it's all over, it's out, he took it out, okay? Shhhh, shh," he said, gently rubbing a circle into your back one of his hands, feeling more than useless. Sergei had Negan putting pressure on it before they could move anyway, putting your kirpan back into your sheath and it was Negan's holding that allowed Sergei to wrap it with Michonne's headband after sorting out his shot knee, because there was nothing else. When they asked for some of the guns Eugene had managed to bring down, that was what started the fight.

 

"Dwight knows the way out, we're outnumbered, we're not gonna fuckin' shoot you - tables have turned and things are different in case you haven't fucking noticed," said Negan scathingly "-the more people with weapons the more chance we have of getting out,"

 

Sergei nodded - and was given one, because he was trusted more than Negan, strangely enough, but the idea of giving one to Negan and Dwight just seemed unfathomable.

 

"Leather man is right,"

 

"Negan," he said dryly "-and don't you fuckin' forget it,"

 

"They have no weapon, they come burden, we leave them behind, we have no way out. You kill her Negan," you blinked as Sergei casually referred to him as that and looked at him owlishly once you unburied yourself from the man's chest. "-and you may as well leave her behind because she will not go with you. She knows me for four years and barely let me touch her to fix her leg but lets him hold her, in light of what just happened, I think you must....ah..."

 

"Swallow your disgusting American pride and give them a fucking gun,"

 

Well, Rick mused - he felt a little told off, and it had been a long time since Rick Grimes felt told off, even when Negan did it, he still pushed back against it internally, but now he just felt like a scolded child, like when his father would get back from work and find him playing cards with his friends instead of finishing his homework, plus it didn't help Sergei was older than everyone in the area, and had lived through two wars and didn't want to deal with the squabbling, not caring who lost who, or who died.

 

"You know he's right Rick," Morgan sighed, more levelheaded than most of his group.

 

It was Eugene who ended up doing it, ignoring the passive glares he got as he handed Negan and Dwight two sizeable guns. 

 

"I'm not putting her down," said Negan flatly "Dwight, you're covering me, since I'm pretty sure everyone else here probably wouldn't. Don't worry about giving my ass a bigger gun till we're at least on the surface, a baby pistol will do, that shit," gesturing to the gun Eugene gave for him "-is a bit too big to put in the pants, but if you're too scared to give me one, fine, I have my hands full anyway."

 

You looked a bit shy, feeling your face burn, you were closer to everyone here after what just happened, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

 

"Sorry," you mumbled, feeling bad that Negan was carrying you - and he didn't bother hiding his baffled expression, and he wasn't the only one, Daryl was too.

 

"The fuck you apologising for? You got stabbed in the leg baby girl, it's fine," he said in disbelief, before lowering his tone for a bit more intimacy, but still being crystal clear that everybody heard him in the sewer nook. "Even if you weren't, I think I'd still want to carry you for a while. This has been.... this has been some shit,"

 

Some shit.

 

You looked at him, and almost asked him right there if he still wanted to marry you, but felt shy knowing everyone was staring at your relationship in mute fascination.

 

"I wish you'd have stayed in the Kingdom, but it's not your fault. They got the jump on us, we didn't figure out the Major turned on Isaiah and took the Cuervos and that Isaiah was MIA - if we had, then we would have fallen back or something, we wouldn't have gotten captured, this wouldn't - shouldn't - have happened, it was more than a gross tactical error and you suffered for it. If I had you stay you probably would have realised before we did," he said bitterly.

 

Was Negan seriously blaming himself...?

 

"I promised," he said quietly "-I am not a great person,"

 

He ignored the snorts and derisive noises.

 

"But I am a man of my word, and I said this wouldn't happen, but it did, and I will spend the rest of however long my life's gonna be, being sorry," said Negan, proving that at least, when it came to you, it didn't matter how macho he had to be or the veneer he had to protect, When it came to you, he didn't give a fucking shit, you suffered more than enough to earn his affection on demand and in his eyes, he didn't deserve you at all, just as you often thought you didn't deserve him.

 

"Fucking Chuck," you croaked, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of leather over the sewage. "Not your fault. He outsmarted me for years, manipulated me. He's good at it, and made military tactics an art form. I don't blame you," you laughed bitterly.

 

"None of you had any clue what you were up against and I tried to explain it, but now you know,"

 

Yeah. Now they did. They suffered, but they learned.

 

"I'm sorry," Negan blurted out again, louder than before, making you look at him in confusion, furrowing your brow as you felt him kiss it, a small blossom of warmth inside of you as he squeezed both of his arms around you, everyone gathering their wits about them and sitting on the floor, talking in heated murmurs and staring at each other.

 

Creed hated it, and turned away from the pair of you, focusing on talking evac with Dwight.

 

"You don't.. I just said--"

 

Negan swallowed thickly, before gently pressing his chin and lips into your hair for the second time, screwing his eyes shut and trying to bury the expression of naked pain on his face that, frankly, dark sewer or not, everybody had caught.

 

"No, I mean, _I'm sorry."_

 

He placed a hard emphasis on it, and instantly you realised what he was apologising for.

 

_I'm sorry he humiliated you. I'm sorry he raped you. I'm sorry we watched. I'm sorry it happened. I'm sorry you're hurting. I'm sorry I didn't protect you. I'm sorry for all of it._

 

It was a loaded apology and you felt yourself melt into his body as you felt his lips kissing your head again - your bruised and aching head, as abused as the rest of you.

 

"Yeah," you said throatily, feeling Gabriel move to you first and begin ripping at the sleeve of his black shirt, tearing at it a bit with his teeth and a knife to make a thicker bandage as you bled through Michonne's headband, and silently passing it to Negan, exposing his left arm darkly. Negan glanced at his scarred lips a moment, before gratefully taking the material, wadding and wrapping it around your thigh, before pulling your recovered trousers up slowly.

 

"I'm sorry it happened too. I'm embarrassed as fuck. I wish it hadn't. I wish he hadn't made you all see. But that was his goal, and it worked," you cried out, feeling Negan squeeze you quietly and keep his face buried in your hair. He didn't even care how it looked. He just didn't.

 

Surprisingly, it was Carol who cracked, Carol who, from day one, didn't like you much at all.

 

"Oh, sweetheart. No. You don't - don't be embarrassed," Carol didn't know what else to say, and for the first time in a long time, her more vulnerable side showed, even if it was only for a moment. Carl was silent, and still covered in his own vomit, but nodded twice in silent agreement. "I know it's hard and you don't know us, but please don't be embarrassed from what just happened, okay?"

 

And then it was Gabriel, whose priestly tones had such a healing way about them that you had to wonder how he hadn't lost it after seeing all of humanity's depravity.

 

"Judgement from us is not something you need to worry about, you are among friends here," Gabriel offered gently "-Please focus on this instead,"

 

"Thank you," said Michonne quietly "-I noticed you got his attention on purpose because of how he was when he came in," her expression was aloof and gave away nothing, but she had to say it, and you just sighed, not bothering to react. You could deal with it, you had for a long time, but you made a promise to every woman in Negan's empire and that stood for Michonne too. You could handle the Major. You'd done so since you were a little girl. You would not inflict him on anyone else. Not if you could help it, and murmured as much, making Negan feel even more raw.

 

Fuck. He still would have hated witnessing it, but it wouldn't have broken his heart so much if it had been someone else, but he didn't have the heart to say it should have been someone else because it shouldn't have happened at all. Period. Carl swallowed his dislike of Negan first, and walked over to where you were sat and plonked himself next to the man, looking at you silently with his good eye.

 

"We'll kill all of them," said Carl quietly, but venomously, causing a small silence, the area filled with a muted agreement.

 

Dwight cleared his throat, hearing the boots on the ground above, and gesturing out of the nook.

 

"I hate to break this up, I really do, but we should keep moving until we're out of the Compound,"

 

Nobody said a word as Negan tucked a pistol into his pants, and picked you up bridally, and silently walked behind Dwight, who led the group. Rick walked beside Negan, occasionally glancing at you in what he registered as concern, and Eugene had just one emergancy light, giving it to Dwight to survey the area, their footsteps echoing and breaking the awkward quiet that followed.

 

Oh yeah, this was really fucking weird. The fact nobody had shot Negan and that even if they wanted to, nobody actually had the heart to - and even if some people were almost strangers or hated enemies, you became bonded together by the kind of glue that only came from a shared trauma, and not for the first time it was you.

 

You brought people together, even if you suffered to do so.

 

 

 

 

 


	21. Any Means Necessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate reviews because I'm churning this out near the end of semester 2 of first year of university and somehow managed to write this in between melting to death producing essays and studying for a final exam so it'd make my day. Yeah I'm totally guilting you, but I'm also the asshole that shamelessly chugs all of the free samples when offered them at food places so don't be surprised that I'm review whoring, it's just the kind of selfish, needy person I am cos I'm a total buttface x

 

 You had to wonder when Negan started caring about your life as much as he cared about his own - hell - he might have even valued you above him at this point, a thought which, mere weeks prior would have been utterly unthinkable. Months ago, you wouldn't have thought you'd be seeing this side to the man or that it even existed. The silence through the black swampy sewers was unbearable, until Dwight shined a light on a rusted, red ladder and began going up it - saying he'd check above ground.

 

"There might be others here, some of them on the surface probably fell back when we started getting overwhelmed, may have had the same idea," said Dwight.

 

"Oh," Negan smirked "I'm banking on that," - making you glance up at him in surprise. You had him let you go, deciding to climb on ahead of him, ignoring the slight ache as you did so, it was already fading into something unnoticeable, so once you, Dwight and Negan were up on the surface of the sewer grate, Sergei seemed to be ignoring his pain, dragging his shattered knee leg up with him with incredible ease and pulling Rick through once he joined you at the top. One by one the survivors poured out, seeing that the sewer grate emptied them on a long, thin stretch of road. Not a highway, more of a gully- which felt strangely familiar.

 

"Crucifixion point isn't far from here if you go the other way and don't stop, we walked a lot," said Dwight "More distance than you'd think. We're pretty up north,"

 

You nodded and pressed your hand into the small of Negan's back as he turned to you - like he was contemplating lifting you up again, instead, you just gave him a small, tiny smile, and whispered that you were okay, wiping at your sore, swollen eyes with the back of your hand before glancing over to Rick. Everyone in this group, except for perhaps Eugene, was strong, and had the capability of leading in their own way - you could tell, but the big dog of the group was easily Rick, and that meant the leaders were Rick, Negan and you - because you led in Negan's stead, with Dwight following closely behind.

 

Now, Dwight had got us this far, it was up to you guys to make the home stretch.

 

"Any idea where the people running would go?" Negan pushed, Dwight nodded.

 

"Yeah, there's a gas station a few miles out, they'd probably hole up there, there was some stuff left in case we ended up using it as our evac point, not a lot, but better than nothing," 

 

It seemed that for a while, the group had a place to go, but you found yourself thinking, trying to get the sensation of the Major out of you and the fact that they'd all seen you at your worst. You glanced at Sergei - who was limping without a single complaint, and felt something swell inside of you - a need to make him proud of you, because what he had to say and do to get you to take out Evelyn was shameful - you'd been at such a low point. Fuck, you still were - but you had to black that bastard's eye, you had to win and there was no "die trying" because now you had people that you cared about. Negan could tell you had a lot on your mind, but figured most of it was reeling in response to the Major, when in fact, you were planning.

 

The gas station itself was a run down pile of crap with neon signs that had long since stopped working, simply reading "Rudy's Pump & Dump," - which, upon reflection, was something of a disgusting name for a business, but a smart one, considering gas stations were often stops that truckers took to relieve themselves, pick up the occasional lizard - which was a trucker-exclusive prostitute, or, as intended, simply to pump gas. Maybe even pick up a sandwich provided it was still in-date and not left to fester as most back-end stations like this often did, the concept of "stock-rotation" died in these sorts of places long before the Collapse hit.

 

"Jesus," Daryl muttered - before quickly raising his crossbow up when he saw someone come out, only for you to deftly reach for his bicep and urge it down. It was the first time you actually touched the man, and he bristled in surprise, pointing the crossbow down with a frown as you didn't take your eyes off the men who approached.

 

Both were of decent height, one in a muddy tank-top and one completely without a shirt, revealing a long makeshift bandage around his stomach which was soaked through with old blood - you recognised their faces, and so did Negan and Dwight, but it seemed only you bothered to learn the names of those Saviors.

 

"Belikov, Patraius," you said shortly "We've got wounded," gesturing to Sergei with your head "-We need to tool up and think about our next moves."

 

"Next moves? There are no next moves, we're six ways to Fuckedville!" said the man - the one you called Belikov, who wore no shirt as it had been made into the bandage that was across his torso, you swore and grimaced, trying to shake off the fact you still felt vulnerable.

 

"Fucking hell Belikov, did you get shot?"

 

"Stabbed, actually - the fucker had a bayonet," he cursed through his teeth, before thumbing to Creed, being one of the people present who'd held a gun to him while Negan had bludgeoned his back with Lucille. "But at least I'm not that asshole."

 

"I'm so glad my suffering helps you get through this trying time," Creed bit out, folding his arms over his chest.

 

"We need to get inside," said Rick, cutting through the conversation as the group shambled in, the glass doors being pulled open to let the people come in. It was now that you heard noises of surprise and it was Negan's turn to swear colourfully, inside were a few Saviors he knew by face, only one or two by name, but he saw that there were people who were obviously Cuervos - Crows - and a face he really didn't expect to see, but it was really very, very difficult to forget a pair of piercing green eyes like the ones on Isaiah. It was the first time he'd seen the man without the flesh mask and it was the same for you, you moved past Creed and Rick and looked at the man in surprise, seeing his angular and admittedly handsome features without the disgusting rotten flesh stretched over his face.

 

"I thought you were dead!" you blurted out, only for Isaiah to sigh bitterly.

 

"As good as," he said, he was sagged in a chair, his knees wide apart and it was now that you noticed his posture was hideous, and you felt something sink in your gut - it was fascinating, as he looked at you, he could tell that something clicked inside of you without him having to say it, and for a moment, both of you were connected by the same man who hurt you.

 

"Holy fuck, he didn't... tell me he didn't,"

 

"Didn't what?" it was Daryl who spoke, and Isaiah grimaced, glancing up at the ceiling and sighing, one of his Crows silently gave him a drink from the supplies left and he just drank it in silence, like it might as well have been his last.

 

"He shot me in the fucking spine," he glanced at you "-I suppose you're familiar with his methods Reinita, you don't look surprised, I fucking crawled on my hands and arms and dragged myself across the road covered in muerto to get here," he closed his eyes "I didn't even need to do it, they didn't even notice me,"

 

"Miles," it was a Crow who spoke "-I guess he didn't expect the boss to make it this far,"

 

"What's your name?" you said, turning to the clean-cut man who seemed to be taking care of Isaiah and getting him drinks and anything he needed. 

 

"Moralez," he said shortly "-and yeah, the boss can't walk anymore, so we're all sort of up shitcreek here, tell me one of you asshats has a plan,"

 

There was a prevailing silence, and you glanced between everyone in the room, before hearing Belikov mutter something about being fucked, you sighed, and found yourself moving away from Negan too, going to the front of the counter where you could look out on the pile of Cuervos and Saviors curled up on the ground, licking their wounds, and you sighed, combining all of the groups, you had maybe thirty people, with others way in the back, going through the supplies, you glanced at Rick, then Negan, before putting your hands on the counter - and trying to gather up any ounce of strength you could.

 

"I have a couple."

 

* * *

 

 

Sergei watched you raise yourself to full height, and project what little strength that you had left, making sure your voice pierced through every corner of the gas station store so that it reached everybody in all of the aisles - even the back.

 

"The way I see it, we have maybe thirty people counting wounded - and they have - "

 

"A fuckton," this was Creed, and you silenced him with a glare that made him mime a zipping feature across his lips and roll his eyes, betraying the familiarity you two had, instead, you just made a point of looking over him and not looking at his face anymore when you addressed the group.

 

"We can find a map and try to plan a route to east of New Richmond, now, I don't know that we have the supplies to make it as far as we need to go, but there's a group to the east - way, way east that I know about. I mentioned it once but you said it was too far to expand out to at the time," glancing briefly at Negan. "-I met one of them while I was travelling and I got an invite extended to me if I didn't want to travel alone anymore, but even if we got that far, we have to keep out of sight from anyone in New Richmond,"

 

"New Frontier guys?" it was Dwight who spoke, remembering you draw something on a map about them and leaving it hanging in the planning room.  

 

"Yeah, usually I'd say we could probably take them but odds aren't really in our favour and we have enough hostile groups to deal with," you said quickly "-and before I met you guys, I may have pissed them off briefly, I uh, went through there with my mum pretty quick and didn't stick around. So, first we need to do that just to get to Alpha Centauri - and then we have to assume Pariah even lets me bring a group this big in with us, and he has zero obligation to help us. Best we could possibly expect is we get a place to rest up and recoup but that's it,"

 

Negan frowned, and realised just how much he still didn't know about you, and how much he didn't ask about - and made a mental note to fix it in private, so he didn't appear so utterly clueless.

 

"What're your other suggestions, you uh," Rick wiped at his slowly growing beard "You said plans, plural," sticking his hands in his pockets. It seemed you knew the lay of the Virginia groups better than most, even if your sense of direction in the foreign land wasn't the best, and so he inclined himself to listen to you.

 

"We could go to the north where the herd is, I got drone imagery of it but...shit, wait, didn't you say something about your Crows clearing out an area to expand the Compound later on?" you said in alarm, if they'd done what you thought they'd done, your haphazard and disgusting plan wasn't going to work.

 

 

It was Isaiah who spoke, silencing Moralez's open mouth with a simple raise of his hand.

 

"The North-East, and our idea of clearing out an area isn't necessarily wasting all of our bullets or men," he said shortly, making your lips twitch, he could see the cogs turning behind your mind, and felt a sudden urge to want to shrink as you looked at him with intensity, noticing he still had his flesh bracers on, and gave you a curious expression.

 

"We just lure them away," he said shortly "-it is why we wear these muertos, it isn't just a choice fashion statement," it was now Carol, Daryl and Morgan also noticed the dead flesh stretched over the man's arms and pulled various faces of disgust, some only flashing for a moment, before looking nonplussed once more. It seemed Rick's people were a lot stronger than you gave them credit for, but it was Isaiah's confirmation that let the curdle of hope inside you become more noticeable.

 

Oh, yes.

 

_Oh, YES._

 

You let out a long, shuddering exhale, a smirk starting to stretch on your face, - it clicked with Sergei at the same time too, because his expression was slowly mirroring yours and it was clear that you, Sergei and Isaiah had reached a conclusion that had yet to spread to the rest of the group, but none quite matched Rick's intensity, as the man was frowning, looking at you as your smile reached almost maniacal proportions. Your fingers clenched against the counter, it was now Negan noticed you'd cycled out of upset from what just happened.

 

Now? You were angry.

 

"Oh, fuck the hell yes!" you swore, grinning at Isaiah, your eyes glittering with life.

 

"I don't follow," it was Daryl who spoke "I don't know if I'm being stupid here but I'm not following, what's the plan?" he said in irritation, voicing Rick's thoughts - but Negan seemed to catch on - and he had an expression of disbelief - there was no way - no way was THAT your plan - but the look on your face - it had to be.

 

"We're goin' dead-hunting, little bird, and then? Our people, your people, the Cuervos - if they'll come - " you added as an afterthought "- we're going up to find us that fucking herd,"

 

It was Negan who finished your sentence, his eyes wide, exhaling slowly as he figured it out.

 

"And we're bringing 'em home."

 

 It was Patraius who spoke, glancing in disgust at Isaiah's arms and some of the Cuervos who still wore flesh masks, even though he'd been with them for longer than some of Rick's people, holed up in the gas station, Carl stared for a while but got over it, but it seemed Patraius hadn't.

 

"I'm sorry, walk that back a second, are we wearing dead people? Like those creeps?" he said, gesturing wildly at the Crows, before adding 'no offence' only to be met with a lazy shrug, wearing the dead was pretty creepy, even if it worked.

 

"I don't know about you Patraius," you said grimly, glancing out at everyone. "I don't know about any of you guys, and yeah, things, look pretty bleak right now, but I didn't come this far, all of our people didn't build this much, and survive this long, to just go quietly into the fucking night!" you found your voice raising, and Carl felt goosebumps coming up against his skin as you spoke, and he probably wasn't the only one.

 

You had this certain way about you, Negan mused.

 

"-and God, I care about too many people here for this 'die trying' shit, so when we go in, we go in winning, there's no other option, got it? If you're not ready, the door's over there. That goes for anyone here.  You can walk, but you won't get far."

 

 "I'm down," Negan offered, raising his hand. "What was the size of the hoard after you cleared the north-east, Isaiah?"

 

Isaiah glanced at him in surprise, he didn't think the man would speak to him with any form of respect, but it seemed he was.

 

"A small city's worth when we added the stragglers, the hoard was already sizeable, and are probably most of the population of old Richmond before it was annexed by the New Frontier," he said frowning in idle thought "I saw a couple of Richmond city employees in the pile, so that would account for the size too,"

 

"Fucking.... do you think it's doable? Your people have been doing this a while, do you think it's doable with thirty people?" he said urgently, only for Isaiah to shrug.

 

You needled in.

 

"If you fan out in proper formation, yes, it's uh, possible at least, if we could find any working vehicle with enough gas we could tunnel them at either side to make sure we keep them in line, but that's down to luck,"

 

"I'm in," Rick blurted - turning to his people, looking at them to volunteer themselves, he spoke for himself, he wouldn't pull everyone in on what was basically a suicide mission of it went wrong, it was Carl who agreed next - which made his stomach churn, but his boy was a man, whether he liked it or not. Carol and Daryl followed, and more Cuervos fell into place before Belikov let out a loud curse and ended up being the first of the Saviors besides you and Negan to volunteer, but Patraius followed shortly after. All Sergei had to do was nod, and he turned to Dwight, almost expecting the man to fall into place, and he wilted under the stare of the intense, older Russian.

 

"We can do it," said Carol, glancing over at the priest. You turned to the man, and grimaced as you remembered what they'd done to his mouth - which was still heavily scarred, and you moved your hands to your own lips, mimicking where Gabriel had his skin sewn shut.

 

"I can understand if you wouldn't,"

 

Gabriel frowned, while he was not one for war, and the idea of walking through a hoard of the dead and guiding them as one of them terrified him to no end, he was not like Eugene, he had grown, and he had come to do things that he wouldn't have done before, and become a true friend to Rick.

 

"If you can do it after everything that has just happened, I have no excuse not to follow your footsteps. I'll do it. I'll help,"

 

You smiled at him gratefully, and ignored the curiosity from the Cuervos who hadn't been present for your degradation.

 

"Well," said Rick, sighing, glancing out at the injured, shambling group of people who barely knew each other, or hated each other, forced to work on the same goal.

 

"It looks like we're going to war."

 

* * *

 

 

There was something inherently horrible about killing somebody who didn't deserve to die - somebody asking to be killed, even, who otherwise, in any other world, might be okay. Moralez was utterly against it, a lot of the Cuervos were, and it was at this moment, that you realised that some of these men were actually family, blood-family at that. It took you a moment, just because nobody looked immediately related, but you could detect similar eye colours and bone structure when the realisation hit you, they were probably cousins, or something.

 

You found yourself swallowing hard as Isaiah waved off Moralez and looked at the group of survivors ideally.

 

"My dear Cuervos, I would rather not have you lug me like a spoilt oiled prince, I'm hardly getting my legs back, no? I am, as they say, fucked royally. I will not be able to help you. I will slow you down, and I will hinder you - but I can be the first step on your journey,"

 

"Bullshit, we kept Uncle Hector alive," cursed Moralez "-he died in his fucking sleep, on his wheelchair, giving no fucks about anything, if he made it two years into this, you'll be fine."

 

You glanced at the bits of the flesh bracer on his arms which had been peeled away by asphalt, and where his skin bruised from how long he'd dragged himself across the roads like a worm and grimaced, somehow, you doubted very much in Moralez's hopeful optimism, even if you understood it.

 

Isaiah shook his head and sighed, he caught your look, and if any of them had been present to see his shame-filled crawl, they would understand why he was saying the things that he was saying.

 

"We are in a bad situation, it will not improve without help," he turned to look at Rick's people, then Negan and yours, before smiling wearily, and pointing shakily at the knife that was stuck to your hip - your loyal kirpan, which a short while ago, had been dangling out of your thigh.

 

"But this is not your Uncle Hector's world, it is so much worse now, so maybe you Reinita, hm? That knife looks good enough,"

 

You bristled.

 

"You're asking me to kill you?" you said bluntly, and while you had no particularly warm fuzzy feelings about the man, the whole thing just felt wrong, and you could feel the eyes of the Crows digging into you all at once, and the man chuckling tiredly.

 

"I am sorry to ask such a thing off anyone present here," he slowly opened his eyes and you found yourself pierced by them, they were just so fucking gorgeous, you had to admit, and without the flesh mask they shone brightly out of his face. "Pobrecita, this is not a nice thing for anyone to have to do, but I know from that shitstain - Major, that you are...familiar with what you would have to do, no? You trained under the mortuary scientist, I assume you could make this quick,"

 

You swallowed thickly.

 

"Any dead guys that Professor Mattius had me poke at to look at the effects of the turn, were already, um, gone - but I mean, I guess -" at the feeling of all of the eyes on you, you suddenly felt quite nervous and under pressure. "I mean in theory y-you would sever the spinal cord where it exits the skull so you'd lose all of your primary autonomous body functions, kind of like with where you were shot lower down the spine, but the um, neck down.  You'd die, but you'd turn, unless...right in the temple," you said quickly, resisting the urge to shrink under Moralez's glare.

 

"No no, nothing in the temple where it would make this harder, you'll be needing this face," he smirked.

 

That's when Moralez swore, violently, and you backed away from Isaiah - as though how unhinged he was finally sank in.

 

"Oh God - you don't mean - you can 't mean - "

 

"Princess, I would dearly like it if that backstabbing piece of pure unfiltered shit saw my face as the last thing he sees, this way, you can do it,"

 

"I'm going to be sick," Moralez groaned, turning away, looking at you as you stood there, chewing on your lip numbly. "Even if it makes sense, I don't have to fucking like it, I'm going to be sick. So what, you sever the brain stem, he dies, we wait for him to turn, and we treat him like we treat the other fucking muertos?" he cursed. "We don't even really have time to dry it out, even if we go for this, y'know? We've worn wet, fresh masks in emergencies, and we've been doing this for years and it still sucks, we at least dry those fuckers out,"

 

"Can you yellow bellies handle it?" he said bluntly, but it was Rick who answered.

 

"We will do whatever we have to do to reclaim what's ours, any means necessary. We can't keep on moving on, and moving on, eventually we won't have anywhere to move to. It's now or never, we have to make a stand, and this is the best plan we have, short of going to - what was that group? Alpha Centauri? And lose our people or struggle just trying to get there," said Rick firmly.

 

"So whose going to do it?" it was Daryl's rough, dark tones that cut through the masculine head-banging, and again you cringed, finding yourself wilting under all of the stares.

 

"Pobrecita, you can do the first part," said Isaiah glancing at his Crows after he said it "-and you can do the second, as all of you know the procedure by now. This will also be when you learn," he was shockingly calm about it, it was enough to nauseate some of Rick's people, if they were honest.

 

Isaiah was definitely in his own class.

 

"As you will need to do it at least twenty nine times from here on out, discounting the ones you will inevitably get wrong, the art of human skinning is not an easy one,"

 

Human skinning, he had to fucking say it.

 

"I've skinned animals, but this is something else," you said with a cringe, but you could do the first part - you reasoned, and spare the Cuervos doing that, at least. In a way, it'd be a kindness, because taking the living light out of Isaiah would easily be the most emotional part, dealing with him as a walker might be easier for them to handle. You felt Negan's hand on your shoulder, and suddenly, your anxiety was able to put itself away, at least - for the moment as he stared down at you.

 

"One thing I've learned, is that there are very few things you can't fucking do," he said, a small, tiny smile on his face - the kind of smile Rick's people weren't used to seeing.

 

The rest was frighteningly textbook, but the others went to different parts of the store or went outside, or in the back to give you some modicum of privacy, it was just you and the Cuervos, and Negan, as he didn't really trust them not to react viscerally when the act was done, and he wanted to feel like he could protect you, and persisted to be in your corner. He wanted you to know he was there, and that he always would be, even for the hard parts.

 

He watched how caring you were with a man who made you uneasy and even frightened.

 

He watched the way you spoke to him softly and asked him to close his eyes, before acquiescing to his last request of being lit up before he died. The gas station had some stale cigarettes at least, which Dwight had immediately sniffed out, so you were able to get Negan to fetch him and his lighter, and light the man up as he took a long, savouring drag.

 

Unfortunately, he mused aloud, there was no alcohol to go with it.

 

"But at least," Isaiah chuckled with his eyes shut "-out of all the ways to go in this shitty world, I will die on my own terms, at the hands of a beautiful woman, and that's more kindness than people are affor...." and as his mouth formed a 'd' and his lips parted to speak, the ash fell from the end of the cigarette and the thick cloud floated up to the ceiling, his words soft and faded as the lazy stream left his lips and nostrils, like a snarling dragon being put to rest. His last word became a faded sort of whisper, and he felt the grim sensation of pain but didn't react, mostly feeling a sensation of warmth dribbling down his collarbone until it was violently cut off - and for a hot, blissful second, Isaiah was in no pain.

 

The cigarette fell into his lap, and it was that simple - it was elegant, like you'd been born to do it, like you'd been doing it your whole life, and it almost felt wrong using something holy to do something like this.

 

_It's mercy._

 

You told yourself - letting Moralez stare at you as you silently packed the curved blade back into it's sheath, and stared back at him before turning to Negan, and making a gesture for the back room.

 

It was all on the Crows now, and you thought you'd give them some moments with Isaiah, at least.

 

_Dying on your own terms at the hands of a beautiful woman is more kindness than people are afforded._

 

What a fucked up world.

 

* * *

 

 

Rick spoke to you first, but you didn't answer - you wondered at the last time you mercy killed someone. You remembered the last time you killed a person - that had been that shitbag Savior - Clarence, but you couldn't remember the last time you had to do a kill like the one Isaiah had asked you to do. Despite not knowing the man, some part of you felt disquieted, and disturbed, and it showed on your face, because Negan started speaking for you, with his hand placed dominantly and insistently on the small of your back.

 

"It's done, we're just giving the Crow a minute and then we have to go and do the other thing, we haven't decided whose doing the wearing yet,"

 

You groaned when Negan said that, because if none of the Cuervos stepped up to wearing a family member - you had a very strong inkling that it would be you. Sergei would offer, he was a man who had a stomach for many things, but after you killed Isaiah, and the way that he spoke about you - you could not help but think he would, in his sick little head, perhaps like to be worn by someone he regarded as beautiful.

 

God, if only you could gag on a thought.

 

The rest was, admittedly, a blur - you felt Carl speaking into your ear and gently shaking you by the shoulder but it wasn't sinking in, and the image that burned into Negan's mind was you standing numbly in the doorway of the gas station holding a bloody and almost unrecognisable pile in your hand, and feeling a less personally connected Cuervos start to apply it to your face. You remember shaking and trying not to be sick - and the wetness, God, the fucking wetness, sinking into every crevice of your skin almost, like the blood was going into every pore you had, you could even feel it start to run down your chin and to your neck - the blood was keeping it in place, and some dental floss weaved into a hard wire and some expertise by a Crow called Austin.

 

You felt it tugging your ears, and your whole face felt heavy. 

 

Blood sat on top of your eyelashes and eyelids, greeting them with redness in gaping sockets which once held a beautiful set of green eyes.

 

"You okay?" Negan murmured, buckling his knees slightly so he could be eye-contact with you, and the way that he looked at you, it was almost as though you didn't have Isaiah attached to your fucking skin, you could still see that needy, caring and dare you say it - loving - stare, directed solely at you, piercing under the mask.

 

"We need to move," you said hoarsely, feeling some blood from where Isaiah's skin had been cut to allow you to breath and form words drip into your bow lips and down your chin, joining the dribbles down your neck.

 

You looked like something out of a horror movie, and for a moment, Carl wondered how Negan was possibly able to look past it, and in this moment, understood that whatever you two have ran far deeper than what he thought it looked like on the surface, which was mostly you two playing grab-ass and being highly sexual as a means of you getting what you want. It had to be something much deeper than even Carl recognised if it was enough to make Negan shed actual tears when you were getting assaulted by the Major, but for some reason, it didn't really hit the boy till now.

 

Creed glanced at Carl and sighed, because even though Carl hadn't said anything, he could recognise that kind of look he was giving you, it was a look he'd given you often, only Creed much more noticeably couldn't stomach the affection between you two, because he'd known you the longest and he'd severed his relationship with you badly by abandoning you when the heat turned up.

 

"I don't know how she's possibly okay doing this," said Carl quietly.

 

"She isn't," it was Sergei who spoke, he'd known you for long enough and the group was quiet enough that the conversation was clearly heard. "But she is doing what we call, leading by example," he glanced over at you, and with a few simple words, Negan watched as your shoulders slumped with what he could almost call relaxation, like when you pet a dog and it heels to you - it was in this moment that the man's prolonged contact with you and the fact he was the closest living father figure you had was noticeable and it sank in for the man.

 

"Good girl," said Sergei simply, watching your shoulder slump and some life return to you when he said it, like he was pulling you out of your horrified daze to accept the praise he so seldom gave out.

 

Negan would probably have to talk to Sergei a bit, while he didn't feel like he needed anyone's approval on this Earth, having his respect would be nice, because clearly, Sergei meant a lot to you, and despite the hideous manner in which he spoke to you to get you out of your breakdown, he was highly valued and knew how to get you moving. 

 

Clearly, being Negan's good girl and Sergei's good girl meant very different things in your world, because if Negan said it - even in an innocent context - he was sure he'd conditioned a response in you where you would just get horribly embarrassed. It seemed that despite that, Sergei's long period of time training you conditioned an even deeper response, because it was like he'd flicked a switch and just like that, you were ready, like you were putting on your army hat and taking off the kid gloves.

 

The rest of the group displayed a fantastic amount of emotional strength, they'd been present for the peeling of Isaiah and it was frankly sickening to watch, it wasn't as simple as just skinning a face which was horrifying enough, but you had to cut around the eyes to leave a pair of holes where your own would be able to poke through, while peeling and showing off the raw red underneath and the hideous amount of sinew that was between the skin and the skull.

 

Gabriel turned away very quickly and dry-heaved behind a shelf, and personally, you didn't blame him, instead trying to focus on Austin's movements at the time. It was that much harder because Isaiah was, for lack of better word, fresh, and the Crow went on to highlight that with walkers this was much easier as they'd started to go soft from the rot, and so that they should try to find the freshest one that they could, so it would be easier to wear and more durable.

 

Carol personally didn't think there was any fucking way to make this durable, Michonne found herself gently urging Gabriel back to the group, and all of them squirmed in horror, bonding and squeezing each other's hands as Cuervos placed the dead upon their faces.

 

Yes, these people were strong.

 

Gabriel did, unfortunately, be sick, but he kept the mask on, and he didn't back down. Sergei, amazingly, didn't react at all, and he was very much becoming a figure larger than life itself, Negan pulled a grossed out expression, but he didn't hesitate, and was devastatingly speedy with putting it on, like he was putting on a hat or something. He was disgusted, sure, and he made no bones about hiding it, but he whistled jauntily, and did his best to act like it was normal and that he was largely undisturbed.

 

It worked, and he at least, pardon the pun, saved a little face.

 

You were not, unfortunately, able to find a car, but you charged Eugene with finding something that worked to help the stragglers at the rear - and Sergei made sure the tactical formation was correct. Rick divided up his people to take an equal distance between each other and make sure that the thirty spread out effectively as possible, he had to admit, this was stranger than covering yourself in walker guts. Some element of sight had to go into the walkers and how they chose their prey, when it came to covering yourself in blood and guts, it was effective, but you had to move slowly, but with the masks, they made the discovery they could walk, and even talk beyond moans - as the walkers didn't register proper language - and not have the dead turn on them.

 

Austin, the Crow, smirked.

 

"This is why we do things this way," he said simply, but Rick didn't comment - it was still sickening, and he could not wait until he could throw it off of his face, because he could feel the wet, freshness, dripping into his beard and fine hairs.

 

Eugene was the only person who couldn't manage to wear the mask, he was, simply put, a coward, so you charged Belikov with looking out for him, and sent them on their way, because Belikov too could barely stomach the mask, he wore it for all of four seconds before throwing it off and giving it to Patraius. The herd was big - really fucking big, and it was slow, so it would take a total of two and a half foodless days if you didn't stop once, marching it to were the Compound was, but it was easily the closest place.

 

You remembered Creed saying something about reinforcements, but he shrugged, because the lost contact with Hilltop just made him assume they simply wouldn't come as they couldn't hold their own land.

 

Legions of moans and rotting vocal chords filled your ears for days - but it worked, because you were moving. 

 

This was a longshot, you mused, and there was every chance you would die, or be shot on sight - it was the Cuervos who advised to keep the guns up and to form a base layer of dead as a shield, so once you had them all in the right direction, you had a living shield of undead patsies, and somehow, hunger and sleep were the last fucking things on anyone's mind, even as the hours turned into days.

 

You were going to fucking war.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rick's boots hit the ground first, he charged forward with Michonne as gunshots began to fire and the people who were alive separated from the dead with shocking speed, and much to Sergei's agitation, his limping had Gabriel drag him to the back and wait for Eugene to show up with a near-empty oil tanker he was able to cut the herd off with at the back. You remember being dragged by your wrist by Negan, charging forward into the Compound with large firearms strapped to your front, ducking at the side of buildings as gunfire began to go off.

 

The first thing you'd done was overwhelm the armoured trucks that had circled the Compound, and to lead them in, Daryl had gotten into one, and with a little bit of wiring on your part, was able to smash through the Compound entrance and devastate the barriers with full frontal force, driving the truck through the Compound and off-road. If it wasn't already swarming with bastards he didn't want there, Negan would be cringing at the damage done to his empire.

 

It allowed for the herd to roll in though, and immediately the gunfire turned to the undead citizens of old Richmond and it allowed for you and your thirty men to go forward and start attacking the people who were gunning down the walkers, while you had the masks on, you were safe.

 

A scream left you as you turned your head and heard someone fall - fuck - that was - that was Patraius - you saw the gaping hole and the soft, red tendrils all around it as you stared through his head and watched him fall before Negan forced you down with his entire body, cursing violently. You could almost hardly hear anything over the screams and the gunshots - you saw Saviors you barely recognised, Paula - coming out, having hidden out or bend to the Major's will suddenly turning their fire on the bayou community which had spent the following days taking over the Compound and putting Savior survivors at gunpoint until they bent the knee.

 

"Are we losing?!" you heard Creed scream from across directly parallel to you, ducked behind another building, one of Negan's former homes.

 

"It ain't over till the fat lady sings!" was the only reply you really had, grimacing as a walker took a bite out of Paula.

 

Shit. This would be the equivalent to a civilian casualty, funnily enough - by a rather rotund and very much dead lady taking a chunk out of her left shoulder as she focused her fire on one of the Major's dogmen who'd come out of the munitions factory, armed to the teeth.

 

This was war.

 

And that's when it clicked.

 

"Fuck, fuck!" too many uncontrollable factors - but gather and overwhelm was the only tactic you had and the only chance of winning, you turned to Negan, staring deeply into his dark eyes through the horrid mask of skin he had stretched over his face and shuddered out what you hoped weren't last words as a bullet pinged off the side of the building.

 

"Whatever happens, I want you to know I love you more than I've loved anything in my whole, short life," you breathed out needily, before turning your head forward and briefly moving out of the shelter to fire a few more shots, before throwing your back against the building to avoid return fire, violently repacking bullets into your empty rifle.

 

Negan wanted to say the same, but you cut him off by shouting to Creed.

 

"Creed! Where did you last see the truck you stole with the gear in it, we need to locate the gear!" you barked - and it was then that it dawned on the boy in the heart of all the chaos. Creed watched as Michonne unsheathed her sword and began sneaking up behind people and indiscriminately skewering them, unable to differentiate very well, it was definitely a problem, but the Saviors who remained quickly allied with the Cuervos that had come in and the group now seemed marginally more put together.

 

"It's the only unarmoured one!" he yelled - you nodded, seeing it when you came in. You knew a lot of that gear hadn't been unloaded yet into the armoury because simply put, it had been too fucking heavy to do so, and only you could operate it, and yes, that was between the Saviors AND the bayou community.

 

Perfect.

 

You remember shouting something to Carl when you saw him able to dodge out from behind a car that Simon liked to drive on occasion and charge towards you, panting heavily with flecks of blood on his flannel and his face, also adorned with a hideous mask.

 

"If anything happens to him, the war won't end when the bayou ends here," was all you said to Carl, and Negan resisted the urge to be surprised, before feeling something horrid pull at his pumping heart as you turned to leave. Fucking hell, you were going to leave him in the midst of open fire! Carl nodded at you once, seeing the look in your face, and without really thinking, raised his gun up besides a man he hated from top to toe, and didn't aim it for him fucking once.

 

Christ. Things changed quickly around you.

 

"Dwight, I need you to cover me!" you said to the burnt man, who was a little further back, but had a much more ample view, making him nod between shooting and ducking.

 

Carl flinched as Negan turned abruptly, pulling a walker away from one of his Saviors before quickly putting a knife in it's skull despite the mask, nodding once at the man he barely recognised but knew to be one of his own - it was just like that, that Carl could tell everything had changed, and for now - you were on the same side. Carol was doing well, but she'd been shot - Carl noticed, seeing her hiss and holding her shoulder curled up in a corner and still taking sniping shots at people's legs.

 

* * *

 

 

 No - no, you remember screaming at the top of your lungs when you saw Eugene out in the open, trying to beckon you to the second truck he was in the middle of commandeering - maybe he grew some balls after all, he seemed about ready to try to follow Daryl's example through the safety of the natural armour a truck supplied, only to be left out in the open long enough that you saw him drop to his knees before you realised what happened.

 

You trained your rifle angrily, following the direction of the bullet and depositing it into an unfamiliar man's chest, before turning to Eugene and screaming.

 

"Neck-Curtain, get moving, truck - now!" only to see his large, graceless body lurch forward, and spread across the floor, a puddle of maroon leaking from his left ear. You felt arms around you and ducked out of them with military instinct, ready to hit the offender with the butt of your rifle before catching sight of the familiar side-shaved head and leaking with a strange relief mixed with palpable horror.

 

"Diesel, you're still alive?" he grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you forward.

 

"Not if you stay out in the open much longer, come on! Get in a truck, we're going to drive them in!"

 

"I have a better idea," you glanced at Eugene's prone form, feeling a sickness lurch inside of you - and the album cover of There Might Be Giants flash painfully in your mind before you were violently tugged away by the Savior.

 

"I'm all ears Ma'am," you felt the man pull you behind the safety of vehicles, both of you covered in sweat and blood. Diesel was quick to dispense of a woman who crept around the side with a small handgun, shooting her at point blank range, and had this been anything but a war - you'd have cringed. You felt your heart still with Eugene, and making a split second decision, you ran out from the safety of the vehicle, and charged for Eugene's body.

 

You were quick in trying to hoist him - but the fact was he was simply bigger and fatter, and when he moaned - you sighed with relief, half-hoisting him on your shoulder before you saw his eyes had gone that unmistakably dead coated white, and your insides lurched.

 

His jaw made several clicks as he clenched his teeth in biting motions, before slowly turning his face away from your flesh-coated features, as though you had gone off, like you were bad food.

 

Fuck.

 

Eugene was a walker. Eugene was dead. All it took was half a moment.

 

You dropped him unceremoniously, and screamed out for Belikov - before charging back to safety - only to see Belikov moaning, and shuffling similarly to the residents of old Richmond.

 

"Fucking - fuck!" you cried, shaking your head violently - you had to keep on track, and so you did your best to channel Sergei, and coldly strode past Diesel, heading for the unarmoured truck, mowing down anyone in your path together.

 

Silently, like a plague carried by wind.

 

"Sergei! Gabriel! Where the fuck are you? We need you!"

 

* * *

 

"Where the fuck is the Major?!" Negan snarled - he and Carl able to charge forward more as their people had been able to clear the immediate ground and dawn on the munitions factory, which was turning into the centre of the Compound's strength, being as it's where the infinite seeming reload was coming from, as walkers spread everywhere else.

 

"Over there," said Rick quietly, turning, panting, and swallowing thickly at the sight of a tank - of course, the bayou still had one, fully operational tank, and someone that had figured out how to use it, with the Major poking his head out, and aiming the long barrel of the tank gun at Rick, Negan and the remaining Cuervos who were now straggling but eventually joining them, some were dead on the ground, and he was about to speak, until a loud rumble made him curse and slam the lid down, quickly retreating into the tank, the guard of the munitions factory.

 

Everyone instinctively dropped to the floor, covering their ears.

 

In truth, they thought it had been a bomb, it was louder than a goddamn landmine, and then the sound of another vehicle coming in. Rick glanced up from his crouched position, and saw that it was coming in reverse, and frowned, before getting everyone up and violently jerking them out of the way, but surprisingly, it stopped well of getting anywhere near them, but at least the distraction gave them an excuse to get out of the tank's immediate firing range.

 

Creed grinned maniacally at the sight of the truck, and let out a loud hoot.

 

"The fucking cavalry is here!" he smirked at Austin. "You're gonna meet our BFGs, guys,"

 

"Big friendly giant?" said Austin in confusion, his brows furrowed. Creed just smirked.

 

 _"_ No. _Big, fucking, guns."_

 

* * *

 

 

A loud metallic screech pierced through the gunfire from the lazy speaker that had been jerry-rigged onto the truck, which was often to give instruction to keep the other trucks in formation for runs, but it hadn't been turned on in a while and let out a long, shriek of static that made the remaining walkers moan and shamble lazily towards it, but by now, your group of fighters were intimately familiar with the walkers, having led them there and acted human and not gotten attacked, they just stood there, legs shoulder-width apart, standing firmly, guns raised deftly at the tank, even though it wouldn't do a lick of good, it was to maintain strength.

 

"Alright Major Chuck, once again, you escape actually getting your hands dirty," Negan instantly recognised it as Sergei's voice, and the speaker easily filled the distance between you and the truck, which was still considerable, and to everyone's surprise, the back of the truck swung open - the double doors almost falling from the hinges with the anger they'd been kicked open with.

 

Negan felt his breath catch in his throat as you jumped out of it, and saw something impossibly large and metallic perched precariously between two large, heavy boxes filled with defunct gear, keeping two massive, metal almost wing-like fixtures standing upright in the truck.

 

You stood in front of it, and black straps went down the front of your chest, attached to those fixtures, and it was, at that moment, that Negan realised you were balancing the weight of the device on the floor of the truck and the rest of it on the strength your body possessed. 

 

"I don't fucking believe it," Creed laughed - he knew you had some kind of a plan, and to be honest, he expected you to turret the autocannons onto something - what he didn't expect, was for you not to find a wall to put them on after finding a surely inventive way of moving the impossibly heavy device, and were instead, fucking wearing it. "She's fucking wearing it! She's fucking wearing the goddamn...."

 

He laughed, a little hysterically - if Rick was honest - relief palpable in his tone.

 

Negan stared, and his eyes went impossibly wide as he saw something long and glistening almost like silver under the bleat of the Virginia sun, being pulled by two handles over each shoulder in what was surely a suffocating amount of weight, had you not been balancing the thing which - was bigger than you and could probably crush someone much bigger than you to death if it was dropped on a rib-cage and not for the first time, marvelled at the amount of strength training you had, and the smarts to balance it.

 

On your head was a large headset with a microphone that was non-functioning but looked almost bigger than your little head, and in truth, you'd be lucky if you could hear a fucking thing as it cancelled out literally every kind of noise possible, it had to, or you'd go utterly and irreversibly deaf, pure and simple - you could hear your heartbeat in your ears from the pure silence it rained down on you.

 

"Holy... " Negan breathed out quietly - his eyes stuck where everyone else's were - the length of the autocannons hocked on your left and right shoulder and then the long bullet jacket that sprayed out of both cannons and sprung out as a long tail that hit the floor and brushed both of your ankles, which were apart in a particular shoulder-length apart to best ergonomically balance the weight.

 

This was a technique for emergencies. 

 

"Shit," it was Morgan who finished off his sentence, surprising everyone, but nobody could disagree.

 

Creed grinned, and turned to the tank - because he could finally be of use now, knowing full well that your world was utterly silent.

 

"Well!" he shouted up to the tank "-I don't suppose you could fire that thing before she lets loose an anti-tank rifle right? With those big old - well, basically cannons, those are about 120lbs balanced over both shoulders, not counting those big-ass ammo boxes, those things can probably," he pointed to the head of the tank, where the man had formerly popped his head out.

 

"Bite through your tank, at the very least, your wheels, or the weak parts of your gun - and you and I both know that she knows it!" he hollered, feeling his voice strain.

 

It seemed Creed would be doing negotiation, a move nobody expected.

 

"Now, I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure those ammo-boxes have something nastier in them too, which is why they're so big, so uh, if I was you, I'd surrender," he cleared his throat a little, getting on tip-toes to shout at the tank some more. "I mean, not for nothing, Major - but it's about half the strength of the supergun, and can blow through a small herd at 2,000 kilometres, which is slightly under half of what ELBED can do, I'd just come out,"

 

It was a while before the Major popped his head out, and he had a megaphone, just so he could be heard clearly to the wide amount of survivors covered in death masks, and he sneered as he looked down on them.

 

"The recoil in that will kill her, they're meant to be wall-mounted, they can shatter bone, she won't fire, it's a dickswing, pathetic - by the way."

 

Creed snorted - if it was one thing he trusted, it was your intelligence.

 

"And you know that she knows that thing fucking intimately, and that fact very well, don't you think she knows the best weight distribution to be able to hold that thing up and fire it for minimum kickback? She's standing in front of the truck and has it mounted there so it won't blow her away. In fact, if I was a betting man, I'd say the worst thing she might do is crack her shoulders," he sneered.

 

Major stared intensely down at Creed, then over at you, then at your men, before snarling a forward advancement order to what remained of his men, slamming the top of the tank lid down as he retreated in, and preparing the gun for fire.

 

There was silence for a while, and then, a loud noise as the tank began to move, and the group quickly dispersed, it slowly closing the distance between you, and it - and you noticed more of the Dogmen coming out of the munitions factory now that the tank moved from the door - and it was at this point, when you saw them turning on your friends - effectively distracting you from aiming at the tank, you snarled, and just like that, the blitz began.

 

It was like sparks were flying from your shoulders at first, and your whole body inched against the floor, slamming you into the back of the truck as the kickback made even your tremendously short body move, even as you dug your heels in as much as you could. You groaned under the weight of it, feeling the strangeness of a silent battlefield wash over you - it had been a long time since you used the autocannons, and it was the first time you were using them so incorrectly.

 

You winced at the pain shooting through your shoulders as you pulled the triggers - which were almost levers at this point, and did your best not let your knees buckle under the weight. It was fast and torrential fire, and Creed had everyone fall to the floor the moment he detected you would fire at the Dogmen to keep them safe. It was a blitz of over-large bullets, many of the shells scattering and piling near your ankles which inched across the ground as you slammed into the truck.

 

It rained like machine-gun fire, and your entire body rippled from the force of every bullet discharge - both of your arms coated in shining sweat, pulling violently on both autocannons at the same time, discharging and reloading the second bullet jacket.

 

"Fallback, fallback - she's a fucking army - fallback!" one of the Dogmen pulled their friend down to avoid the fire, which Rick immediately turned to - depositing his colt's bullets into them coldly - not missing a beat, even if he was mesmerised at the sight of the autocannons in use.

 

You turned the autocannons remaining bullets onto the tank, shooting violently at the wheels until they stopped churning, then at the gun itself until it was heavily dented and eventually, when you ran out of bullets, you were forced to drop the massive guns, causing your shoulders to ache with relief.

 

Now that he was closer, you took off the headset, letting your arms click painfully as you did so, panting heavily - it was now they could all see your body covered in roughly four sheets of sweat, making the blood from Isaiah's stretched face pool further down your body and into your chest. You didn't say a word, making a few movements on the autocannons you threw into the truck, forcing two large support buttresses out from the ammo boxes as you slowly walked forward so the buttresses could lurch out of the truck and hit the floor by your ankles.

 

One long antennae like sort of thing erupted from it - before it seemed almost canister like, and heavy - you pointed it at the tank, swallowing the dryness in your throat.

 

"This, is a grenade launcher," you said hoarsely - feeling your throat ache - you were sure you'd screamed out in the pain of the kickback, because it felt like your throat had torn.

 

"Now come out, Chucklefuck."

 

 


	22. We Are Still Here [Mini-Chapter]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is shorter than usual, cos I've got deadlines but I was just wondering, bc this character is so much fun and I LOVE writing reader-adventure stories like this that YOU sink your teeth into, where your past is important, where you feel like it's real enough and you can slide into her shoes without feeling like the Reader-oc has no personality of her own. SO! I have an unusual question for you all.
> 
> Would you read a high school/or/university AU with this character and TWD? That sounds strange I know but, Negan's whole gym teacher thing might have inspired it, and I'm a sucker for the pairing and also the interaction with Carl and people closer to Deadshot's age was fun and whatnot, so - a non-zombie AU. Collapse didn't happen, everyone's in an education environment, the world keeps on going after 2010 which is appaz when the Collapse occurred. Other chars that died early on may also be alive too *cough Shane cough* - so uh, do let me know and if you like this and Stockholm Syndrome, follow my works!

 

 

They tied him by the wrists to one of the long, heavy and well-welded in spiked pipes that jutted from the bumper of the armoured truck that Daryl had driven into the Compound. There was a heavy silence as the Major came out of the tank, with his hands behind his head and feeling every available gun as well as the long grenade launcher being pointed at him with intense loathing. The Major didn't say anything at first, glancing at the amount of people who had some kind of firearm pointed at him, and then at the grenade launcher you were holding up with both hands, now with only one strap going down your front to lighten the load.

 

"A little overkill always was your style, Deadshot," he spoke in an emotionless tone but you could almost detect the sneer in it. Instantly, you despised the over-familiarity, and so did Negan, who couldn't look at the man without seeing him mounted behind you in his mind's eyes, with a smirk that he just wanted to tear off with his fingernails. "But I will give you credit for ingenuity," he said with a sort of bitter laugh which at least told you he was very much aware of the fact he wasn't going to escape this alive.

 

"I really don't know how you managed to collectively off Evelyn but it looks like I'm not enjoying being a single man for very long--" he spoke about it in such a blasé tone that had you not witnessed them together, you'd have wondered if he really cared about her at all.

 

"Shut the fuck up," you found yourself snarling - before you could control it, oh yes, you were well past being upset and with the adrenaline pumping through you and the smell of blood on the breeze, all the unnecessary fucking death on your mind, even Eugene's soft, unsuspecting face as he keeled over on his knees cycling through your mind at amazing speed. It made you clench the grenade launcher until your knuckles turned another colour, an accomplishment with your complexion - and it was now with the occasional back glances from Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Morgan, Carol with her bleeding shoulder, Dwight, Carl the remaining Cuervos and everyone else with a firearm who were coming out on the scene, it was very clear nobody had any idea what you were going to do, so refrained from acting.

 

"I'm not wasting this on you," you said after a moment - in truth it was to get him out of the tank, and you silently pulled the long antennae back and loaded the thing back into the truck lazily, feeling pain aching through your shoulders and ribs but steadily ignoring, between that and the wound on your leg, you had enough reasons to want to drop - but that could wait. "Even though I'd just  _love_ to shove it up your ass until you died," you said bluntly.

 

If any of Rick's group were surprised with your bluntness, they didn't show it - except for Daryl looking at you in a flash of alarm out of the corner of his eye but schooling his face back into one of focused readiness.

 

You found your chest heavy as you stared at the Major - somehow, this felt a little anticlimactic in the face of four years of suffering at the hands of this man. 

 

"I would  _so_ love to just...  _fuck you to death_ \- until you see stars, until you're bleeding, you're crying, you're praying to your fucking Gods and asking me to stop and I have the utmost pleasure of telling you no, but that would make me as bad as you and frankly, I'm rather glad I don't have to ever touch you ever again and far be it for me to ever fucking do that willingly, but the one difference there  _would be_ \- is that, if I fucked you to death, you would actually feel it," you smirked nastily, the air became sharp and uncomfortable, and the Cuervos who had very little context as to what was happening despite the vague discomfort about their rules regarding women found themselves darting their heads back and forth between you and the Major.

 

It became very apparent with context clues that you had a long, deep and incredibly dark history with Major Chuck and you weren't about to let him die peacefully, or take him as prisoner - as Rick contemplated - because the kinds of things he'd done, they were just too horrible, but it wasn't Rick's fault - he only saw the tip of the iceberg, he didn't know how far this went, until now, that is.

 

The Major opened his mouth to talk, but you snapped, and told him not to - or you'd carve his tongue out, because you spent four years listening to him talk and now it was time for him to hear you. Negan could be seen glancing at you in concern, brows furrowing - wondering if you were going to have another psychotic break.

 

"I have spent  _four years_ listening to your orders, trying to protect myself and the people around me, I have spent  _four years_ being a fucking placeholder in your nasty, disgusting little existence because you're warped in the goddamn head, because if it wasn't me it was going to be someone else, like your daughter - oh yeah - don't look surprised, Evelyn told me before she died but I always sort of knew anyway. i have spent so long waiting for you to die, thinking you'd have an accident as you got older, or that you'd just die of old age, or that the next breach would kill you, or you'd be killed on a job, oh God, you have no idea how long I've been  _waiting,"_ you hissed through your teeth, before opening both of your arms open widely while wincing in pain so you could gesture to the piles of bodies and bloodstains that stretched over the Compound.

 

"All of these people had to fucking suffer before you got your dues, but now I finally have you, and I can't help but think there is nothing I could do in a short amount of time that could possibly make up even slightly for the amount of pain you caused me, or the lives you ruined," you hissed, before unsheathing your kirpan and walking closer to him, forcing the survivors to put their guns down.

 

"Babe?" Negan asked with a frown, concern palpable, because clearly he was worried another Clarence incident was about to happen, and while it was welcomed in terms of the Major, he worried for what that was a sign of in terms of your mental state.

 

"Don't worry Gorgeous, I'm fully in control of my faculties, in fact, I don't think I've been in this much control in a long time," you said smoothly, glancing at him briefly, calling him by a nickname nobody was used to hearing besides Negan, but nobody reacted - they just watched you hold the Major's face up by the jaw by putting the kirpan under it so that his chin sat on the sharp bend which curved the blade, again, to spare you actually touching the man. Creed was staring at you, purely mesmerised - before smirking at the Major, because there wasn't a man he hated more except for perhaps - maybe - Negan, because of what he'd done to his torso.

 

And for loving you.

 

"Cuervos - don't think I forgot who you originally sided with, look - take a look - _fucking LOOK_ at the piece of shit that you decided to make your bed with," you said sharply, making Austin flinch suddenly and the Cuervos who remained to look slightly uncomfortable, and to not be able to respond, especially as you saved their collective asses, there was an uncomfortable air of near guilt forming in the air, which intensified the more you spoke, and more of the bigger picture started becoming apparent.

 

"A miserable sack of shit with a God complex who fucks little girls, feel ashamed," the devastating bluntness made Austin wince, and some of the other Cuervos - who hadn't degenerated to a point where abusing young girls - or anyone - was okay, even if they were in the habit of wearing the dead, and were their own streak of violent, they weren't quite _like that_ and their uncomfortable reactions showed it.

 

"What're you going to do?" it was, surprisingly, Carl who spoke, who lowered his gun because it became apparent to him very quickly that this was something you needed to resolve yourself, you pulled rank when it came to the amount of people who wanted to hurt the man because of what he'd done to them. You definitely pulled rank, and went on to explain why, making the air of discomfort rise, but he had to know. The Major had to know everything he'd done because he had to know what was leading up to you wanting him dead and why he was going to die and why it was going to be at your hand and nobody else's. Unlike what he did to you, you were going to give him an explanation for his suffering - a kindness he didn't really deserve, but it was more an act of catharsis for you rather than kindness for him.

 

"You know, there's actually not much that springs to mind that can make up for four years of people you hurt, how he hurt me, and all of the people he made me hurt for him," you said, turning back to the Major with a disturbingly empty look in your eyes, God - you just wanted to see the fucking terror in his face, you wanted to shatter that blank expression and replace it with the kind of unique panic and misery that came after your life flashed before your eyes and you knew you were to die painfully, and soon.

 

"Four years," you let out a low, appreciative whistle. "You made me hunt down Wintersun like dogs, you -  _your fucking idea of justice_ was carving people open while they were alive, but hey, it's okay, they had morphine!" you said sarcastically. "What you made me do to Cole. What you made me do to the rebels - the amount of times I closed my eyes and wished I fucking sided with Nero even if it meant I'd have died fighting you and your fucking superguns," you snarled, it was now that a bit of blood began to drip from his chin from where you held the knife, but you didn't care. "The things you made me do to you because you would hurt my fucking mother if I didn't. Do you think I liked it? Do you think I wanted it, for half a second?"

 

It was rhetorical, of course, and your tone took on one of mockery and pure, unfiltered nastiness.

 

"Girls like me don't go for sacks of shit like you, faded fucking ancient wannabes playing army, we go for them younger,  _hotter,_ better - with bigger fucking dicks," you sneered, glancing at Negan rather noticeably, and making the Major's face contort when you mocked him and pulled him rather purposefully to look at the man.

 

"Look at what you lost to, and the best part? He didn't even have to try. He didn't force me to do anything. He didn't have to blackmail me, he didn't have to climb on top of me or shove a needle into the back of my fucking neck. He did two things. He cared about what I had to say, and he respected my dignity as a fucking human being, which is more than you ever did. You didn't just lose today, you lost me a long time ago, you have nothing - you are  _nothing -_ and you deserve to be nothing. After everything you took from me," you said bitterly - he'd even been jealous of Creed, and with drugs, morphine, painkillers, antidepressants - he forced Mattius to keep you plied with them and with drugs he had been willing to crush your chances of being in love. It's part of why you and Creed never really became a thing, nor did you chase up Nero, you had whole portions of a year where you barely felt anything at all just so you could overload the pain until the day after, so you could tell your mother that you were okay.

 

It was now that, out of the bayou, you were finally feeling everything, and with Negan - you finally felt like this horrible, bleak, never-ending shitshow of misery was at least in colour for you now. Negan didn't bother hiding his surprise, before a small smile started to fight its way onto his face, a tiny bud of unexpected warmth spread inside of him when he heard the insistent venom in your tone that was so very firm in your feelings about him, he probably wasn't the only one who was surprised, but he couldn't say he gave a damn about what anybody else thought.

 

"You took it all, and then you plied me with everything out of the medicine boxes just to keep me there, with drugs you even crushed my chances of being in love. I had nothing. I was just your little fucking toy lieutenant, for two of those four years I barely tried to feel anything at all because of all the bullshit you put me through. So, I'm in the position here of thinking 'What can I possibly do to the man who took it all?' Feed you a gallon of poison and have you haemorrhage out your ass until you croak? Still doesn't quite make up for the parasitic disgust of having something inside you - a little parasitic thing that didn't even ask to be there, and then being forced to violently miscarry it anyway,' did you have any idea how long that fucked me up for? - Nah, there's nothing that can make you feel indescribable loss like that. You don't even care about Evelyn, do you? There's not a lick of remorse anywhere on your face."

 

And there wasn't - and while the last part wasn't new to Negan, it was to everybody else, and the look on so many faces was that of shock and insurmountable disgust and suddenly, the fact you were so angry that the Cuervos sided with him to begin with at all made sense, and a few of them were looking down at their feet, with an almost tangible sort of shame.

 

Good.

 

An idea came to you as you glanced at the truck, and moved your knife from his chin, allowing the Major to slump his head down - and he didn't say anything, before deciding to work up the courage to ask if you were actually going to torture him, and in truth, you thought about it - he'd deserve it too - but you said - "I've wasted four years of my life on you, I'm not wasting anymore time now," -  you signalled the survivors to put their guns down, and said quite simply that you would handle the Major's execution, and that if they were queasy or didn't want to be around for it and wanted to go and recover from their wounds, they could.

 

After your horrifying diatribe though, you found everybody very much stuck in place, feeling like they were in the presence of a devil that they desperately needed to see be sent back to hell, where it belonged.

 

"I'll be back in a moment, don't kill him while I'm gone," was all you said.

 

It was, surprisingly, Negan who was the first to talk to the Major when you were gone - and the others didn't really know what to do, except make sure nobody went rogue on your orders and took your kill from you, and so they stood there - and they watched, in slight fascination as the once terrifying leader now began to resemble more of his former self as he strode up to the man, and gave him a full, teeth-showing smile. It was swift - and nobody saw it coming, but he wholly deserved it, and nobody actually stopped him as he curled his fist and pounded the man square in the jaw with a loud reverberating crack.

 

"She said not to kill you, but I'm going to enjoy doing everything in between," he said, bringing down his other fist with a loud  _crack!_

 

Nobody was stopping him, a few people glanced at each other with a worried 'should we?' look, but nobody did. Nobody could say the man didn't fucking deserve it. Negan punched, punched and punched even more, aiming a lot for the man's torso until even Carl was sure he probably damaged an internal organ, and his knuckles had gone red, and had flecks of the man's blood on them. His lip was swollen, and it hurt to talk - so the Major didn't, and one of his eyes sealed shut from a punch to the head - something he'd done to Negan himself when he was captured and was still fading - before he decided to take the good old classic pot-shot, and go straight for the balls with the end of his boot, forcing a bloody belch out of the man, who had bitten his tongue down during the beating to stop himself screaming. Blood now poured from his lips and down his chin, and he ended up coughing it out to let out a moan of pain when Negan kicked him.

 

He had to admit, it did make him feel better, though admittedly....

 

"I'd probably feel better pulling your nails out one by one and torturing you like the sick fuck I am but I'm not going to take this from her," he said, referencing you, before bending down slightly, so he was eye-level with the Major's only eye that he could manage to open. "-because unlike you, I don't just take shit from her, you know? That's a promise that I made, it's about the only thing that's stopping me beating you to death, do you hear me, Chucklefuck?"

 

The man nodded silently.

 

"You've already taken away everything from her, you've been so many of her firsts and it just fucking burns me up inside that it's - you - but God, you know - it's going to make us so fucking happy that we get to be your last," Negan smiled up at him, rather nastily too - and if it was directed at anyone else but that man, the survivors would admit, they'd have fucking shivered, that look of pure, unfiltered hatred in the sociopath's eyes was something out of nightmares, to be sure. "I spent so long wondering what the boogieman of a fantastically strong woman like her looks like, but seeing you? I'm a little unimpressed," he sighed.

 

"And I have....so much of your bullshit I have to undo, 'cos the shit you've done? That'd break a lesser person, but not her. See, you got given  _dynamite_ there, a fucking  _goldmine_ \- of smarts, strength and power, and what do you do? You fucking squander it. You torture it. You try to  _ruin it_ \- "

 

"I made her everything she is," the man slurred out, his damaged tongue barely able to lift itself. "-without us, she'd be nothing, we taught her everything, gave her everything," he smiled nastily, he was going to die - so he may as well get the last word in "-and I've had her in every way you can possibly imagine, long before y---"

 

Punch - and these time, teeth sprayed out - three of them to be precise - from the sheer force of the blow delivered by Negan - who began to see red before he felt Creed's hand on his shoulders and remind him not to go too far - but he just moved his tremendously strong arm back and actually managed to fling Creed off in a way that made him stumble backwards because his hatred was that strong that he was dying to deliver another punch, and he did - this time for the man's chest, and a clear crackling noise was heard as he winced.

 

Negan definitely fucked up his chest - he had an impressively strong body, after all. He grabbed the Major's face violently, fingers and nails sinking into his flesh as he did, and the murderous, homicidal urge was clearly pouring out of every bit of his body and he was trying desperately hard to reign it in - with Creed's intervention managing to hit him at least a little.

 

"Listen here you fuckin' goddamn piece of pure human garbage, that woman has more balls and more brains than anyone I've met in the four fucking years since the Collapse and I've seen her do things that you can't fucking teach - and if I could make it so she didn't have to fucking suffer  _you -_ believe me I would, and I'd still love her, even if she wasn't a fucking specialist, or a fucking lieutenant. Do you understand me you thick piece of shit? You were given pure gold and you fucking _squandered it -_ and I wished she could have gotten away from sooner, because every day with you was a day fucking wasted, and I would have given her everything, taught her if I had to, and I wouldn't have fucking tortured her the way you fucking did. She's worth more than you, more than you could ever  _hope_ to be," he scraped his nails into where he'd cut the man's face with his punches - as he'd lip as split, and dragged the blood out, making his good eye wince in pain as he continued to hurt him.

 

"More than you could ever fucking  _hope_ to give her. Do you think she thinks about you at all when she's with me?" he smiled nastily "-because she doesn't. You're a gnat. A plague. A fucking problem. A fucking relic of the past that should have fucking died there, and you know, the first thing she did when she met me was beg me to let her go because she scared of inflicting  _you_ on anybody. So now, we have the personal delight of ending that here and fucking now, because you won't be inflicted on anybody."

 

"Any - fucking - more." It was at this moment, you re-emerged from a bullet-ridden building, eyebrow raised as you returned to the thick tension and the amount of shocked and disquieted stares directed at Negan. You glanced between him, his fists and the state of the Major - and instead of react in any sort of negative way, you merely snorted with an insulting, derisive amusement that made the Major glance down at his feet just so he wouldn't have to see the cocky expression on your face.

 

He supposed this was payback for "housebreaking" you in front of all of your friends - reassertion of dominance, a public trial of his behaviour and abject condemnation and now you would be judge, jury and executioner.

 

If it wasn't obvious before, all of those other times, it was now - because the way Negan was talking, you only talk that way about people you love - and there was a powerful amount of anger, resentment and genuine regret in his tone, infused with a kind of unfiltered fury that only really came to you when you saw someone you love getting hurt. Carl found himself swallowing thickly, but Creed - well, he felt something in his chest sink, because the kind of strength Negan displayed, the pigheadedness, the boldness, the anger, the fact he was ready to throw his entire empire into a war with the bayou just to keep you - it...it highlighted to Creed his own failings.

 

When Creed didn't even fucking bother to come back for you.

 

"What's going to happen?" it was Rick who spoke, pulling his puzzled stare from Negan to you - it was clear that he wasn't used to hearing Negan sound human, and it was clear that his relationship with you had changed him very much in a very short amount of time to the kind of man that Rick was beginning to struggle to equate with the person who mowed down Abraham and Glenn just to prove a goddamn point. Well, in many ways - that man was still there, in his threats and his hyperviolent beating of the Major until bones could be heard cracking, but it wasn't "just for fun" - it was full of heart, and aimed. It was, Rick Grimes had to say - frighteningly human of him, and from the look on Daryl's face, he thought the similarly perhaps.

 

"What's going to happen is, you turn away if you can't handle this," you said quietly, and it was only when you unscrewed the cap, and began to raise the fuel high over his head - and start to aggressively slosh it down his hair and over every part of his body, that the ripples of shock started to travel through the survivors. Some of the Cuervos just left - you didn't blame them - or turned away, going to tend to wounded, but even as they fell away, you noticed Austin stayed - and you saw Diesel too, he'd been next to Dwight, smoking aggressively now the bullets had finally stopped, with both of them in a mute kind of daze at what was unfolding.

 

The gasoline got into every part of the man's face - eyes, ears, nose and mouth as he screamed, like he finally realised what was going to happen to him - and he choked on it when it came into his mouth, dribbling it down his chin and collar, shaking against the armoured truck aggressively until the chains used to hold him almost cut through his wrists.

 

Dwight felt his legs shake when you called him over - he'd seen Negan do some horrifying things, he'd seen you do equally horrifying things, but somehow, he hadn't quite seen this happen before - unless what happened to Evelyn counted, but she'd been a walker. This was its own ballgame of cruel, and you glanced at the survivors, to see if anyone might stop you - you thought Morgan might, but after hearing everything he heard, he was frozen - unblinking.

 

Nobody did, and you spoke quietly, and softly over the man's rapid spluttering, trying to get the taste of gasoline out of his mouth, as he stood, drenched head to toe and dripping in it.

 

"You know..." you said softly - wishing you had some sort of line, or something that made all of those years of balled up pain come out in a few parting words, but there were no words strong enough, so you had to settle for giving it an air of finality without the closure. That, you supposed, came with time.  There was no 'Hasta la vista baby' line that made this any easier either, because even with the worst method of death you could think of, it still didn't quite feel equal or fair compared to everything that he'd done, it was just a purging, pure and simple. You were doing it this way because it would hurt, but he wouldn't come back, and this way - it would finally be over. The months of looking over your shoulder - over - all of it - over - maybe even someday, the nightmares too. Over.

 

"I don't know if Hell is real, so I'm going to make it real - just for you. Just in case. The last thing I will ever give to you,"

 

There was something beautiful, or perhaps tragically fitting was the better term - at least, for Austin - watching you take a long drag from a cigarette with Isaiah's face worn over you, mimicking his last request as you bore down on the Major with his final judgement. It was a poetic choice, Austin thought - and if Isaiah was watching, he could be entirely certain that the man would be smiling his gorgeous, award-winning smile from ear to fucking ear.

 

Especially as you flicked off the ash, and threw the lit thing into the puddle by the man's feet, and watched him instantly light up - first it was the shoes, then the rest of the clothes, crisping and turning black, folding in on themselves, and then his skin - covered in that fine, thick sheet of gasoline - and the hair! God, the Major's long, well-loved hair, that went almost instantly, exposing his burning, blistering, red skull.

 

Michonne was the first one to walk away, flinching when the smell got under her nose, with Morgan and Gabriel, and then slowly, the other survivors began to disperse as the piercing screams filled the camp, the sound of the chains banging frantically against the bumper. Dwight left quickly too - he couldn't stomach burning so well, especially the smell, not after the hot-iron.

 

You didn't blink - Negan noticed - your eyes just glued to his terror and his suffering, and wishing you could loop it for tens of thousands of years because it'd be the least of what he fucking deserved. He watched the anger drop from your face, and the small, bitter smile as the Major's skin began to blacken, and even though it was disgusting and in truth, horrifying beyond all belief, he knew why you were there. You'd be watching to the end. You had to see your devil put to rest, sent back to hell where he belonged, you needed to see his pain.

 

You needed to relish in that terror, and so instead, he simply stood behind you, before wrapping his large arms around your waist silently as the screaming subsided, but the thrashing continued - it was enough to get Sergei out of the truck, and admittedly, the man actually flinched, because the smell of burnt flesh was one he was keenly reminded of from the earlier wars he'd been in, but he smiled, because the Major fucking deserved it.

 

Eventually, it was just you, Negan, Rick, Sergei, Carl, Daryl and Carol.

 

"I can't believe this is how it ends," you said after a long moment of quiet.

 

"It's over," said Negan - firmly and decisively in the way he somehow knew that you so desperately needed to hear - like when you had your PTSD fits and just needed somebody to tell you what happened next, and what to do. "It's over and you don't have to be scared anymore."

 

 

* * *

 

 Rick Grimes watched as Negan silently raised you when the Major's body was an unrecognisable black pile of ash and bone, not even enough left to turn, just purely dead. He watched as Negan held you, bridally - when you started holding your torso and quietly revealed that the use of the autocannons had kickback that felt like it fractured one of your ribs. He watched as Negan smiled a scarily human-like smile and said he'd take any excuse to hold you, and peeled off the Isaiah mask, and his own, handing them to Austin and letting you gasp freely for air. He watched as both of your faces, covered in blood from the fresh masks, didn't even take time to wipe them before you kissed each other lovingly, like you hadn't seen each other in months. Sergei walked to Carol and offered to help tend to wounds, Carson was, apparently, alive - because even the Major wasn't stupid enough to kill a doctor, and the man was found hunkered down, and chained to a radiator. 

 

Negan just had one little question for Rick - and that was simple.

 

"Are you going to kill me now, Rick?" it's all Rick had been trying to do since he even came on the scene, but things changed, enemies changed, all of it. Rick never thought they'd be on the same team and so things were confusing enough as it was, but he didn't expect the man to be so forthright. "Because for what it's worth, I'm sorry I killed your people. Don't get me wrong, I don't magically care, I didn't know them, didn't care to know them, and I killed them," he said bluntly.

 

Rick was silent, frowning at him.

 

"But coming to know you and the resilience of your people, I'm regretting treating you like the others, I really fucking am. If I'd have known just how different a beast you guys were, I don't think I'd have done it. Either way, I'm regretting it now, and this is me telling you I'm sorry," and yes, Rick was keenly aware this was as close to remorse as Negan got.

 

At least it was honest - the part he didn't expect, was what came after.

 

"But if you do kill me, don't do it in front of my girl, don't have her be the one to find me either, and look after her. I need to know she'll be okay no matter what happens, I owe her that - fucking fuck - Rick -  _I promised her that -_ and I already fucked that up once,"

 

Rick gave him a long hard look, before sighing - he still didn't like the man, hated him in fact, but too much had changed, and he didn't expect Negan to take this approach. For a moment he thought it was manipulation but after seeing how he was with you, how could it be?

 

"I don't know that I can ever forgive you but I'm not gonna kill you," he said, exhaling slowly - Negan had laid you on one of Carson's sofas to be treated later, Carol and some Cuervos were being seen to first, the casualties were... not as high as they could be, as most had simply died. Rick stared at you on the sofa, curled up and holding your chest where your ribs hurt, and remembered the tremendous gun that you had brought in and used at terrible cost to yourself, just to try to save everybody.

 

"I made my own promise - that I'd stop asking things of her, and she saved all of our lives today whether she acknowledges it or not and I can't repay that by killing you, not when you love the bones off of her - and besides us, I don't know that she has anyone, or you wouldn't be asking me to look out for her if I kill you, especially now. After all this bloodshed. She needs one person who does and for some reason she wants that person to be you. Don't make a mistake here, we're not friends, we're barely even allies - and things are going to change from now on, but I can't kill you, on her kindness, I'm not going to kill you. Do you hear me, Negan?"

 

Negan was silent for a moment, and simply nodded once, if this was the cost of keeping you - he'd pay it.

 

"I hear you, Rick,"

 

"Then we have an agreement," he glanced at you - and then at Negan - but the man beat him to whatever was supposed to happen next.

 

"I think I need to head what happens here next but you should make sure your people in Alexandria are okay, about half your people are still there, right?" Rick blinked in surprise, but nodded twice, frowning curiously and having truly no idea where the man's mind was at, he was nothing if not unpredictable in nature.

 

"I'm going to try to re-establish contact with Simon at the Hilltop, and try to clean this shit up," he grimaced, glancing out of the window.

 

Yeah, there was going to be a lot to clean up.

 

"We've got washed up Crows and injured Saviors straggling about, I need to get them to park some of the trucks around the perimeter where we broke in to re-fortify and the... fucking bodies," Negan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment - there was a lot of goddamn bodies. "We're up shitcreek here Rick, so I'm trusting you to go and deal with your people, you can leave the injured ones here if you want and take one of the armoured trucks those fuckfaces left behind. Your people aren't in any danger from me, if you're wondering. We've got too much to rebuild," his eyes flickered back to you.

 

"I've got her to take care of," if anything, Negan should have been more concerned about his own life, being that his power dynamic had been ruined, but it seemed that - given the exceptional circumstances, he found something more important. He watched as Carson took you inside for treatment, and sighed, folding his arms over his broad chest. It was a strange thing, to be talking to Rick like he was an equal and not something scraped off the bottom of his shoes, and by all rights, they should be at each other's throats, it was like they were in a strange sort of limbo, but after all the gunfire and bloodshed, Rick rather welcomed conversation over any more fighting.

 

"I made a promise, Rick - and I'm a man of my word. There's been very few things I haven't found a way of doing. In the four years this world went to shit, I spent it building everything that got destroyed today. I threw my empire into a fucking war all for one woman, she told me from the first day we met that this would happen. She begged me to let her go, but I took one look at her and took my chances anyway, and I don't regret it. Not for the world, how fucked is that?"

 

Rick didn't reply, brows drawn into a frown, it was decidedly, massively weird for Negan to be talking this but especially to him, as though they were friends. But then again, Rick supposed - how many friends did assholes like Negan even really have? He probably took what he could get, he couldn't imagine anyone as cocksure as Negan rarely went for advice either, so where he did he go when he needed it? Nowhere, Rick supposed - maybe that's why he was having a wholly unwelcome and impromptu man-to-man with him, he didn't really have a lot of options.

 

That, and you both clearly cared about the same person, and were bonded by the same trauma.

 

"You're a good man Rick, what can I do for her?" said Negan flatly "I'm asking because I don't actually have an answer,"

 

_Because I'm not a good man._

 

"Protect her, and keep her safe. She kept us safe today, it's time somebody does that for her, I think," he said, after a long moment of deliberation, remembering the pain of you mounting a supergun on your small, strong body, but almost quivering under the weight. "I don't know that anybody has ever done for her properly, from - what I heard, anyway. Everybody needs somebody if they're growing up in all this, it sounded like she had her mom but it sounds like she did all the looking after--"

 

"And the sacrifices," Negan added, bitterness oozing into his tone -  _fucking that monster._

 

"Yeah, I figured," said Rick with a grimace - still barely able to shake that he was having a civil conversation with the man. "-Carl had me, people in our group, they came as families, a lot of them died on the way but they had each other, and then they had us, and it's why they're strong, it's why we're strong, it's why when you took Glenn and Abraham - it  _mattered."_

 

Negan didn't flinch, but he did bow his head in acknowledgement for what he did.

 

"Do you - are you even capable of getting that?" said Rick, with an earnest frown on his face, making it clear that he thought there was something wrong with Negan, and Negan wasn't oblivious to that fact. He knew he was different, he always had been, he was always the kid who took things too far. When boys pulled on girl's hair to show they liked them, he'd be the kid to cut it off completely, the kid's who marvelled at ant-farms - he'd spend his time with a magnifying glass setting fire to them one by one in between being a frighteningly normal sort of boy.

 

"This isn't me trying to be funny Negan, I'm honestly asking, can you get that?"

 

Negan frowned, and looked away from him.

 

"If you'd have asked me a couple of weeks ago, I probably would have lied, or just told you the truth and said not really. But I think I do now, at least, I get it more than I used to - I had enough near misses with losing something that actually mattered and it's been a long time since that happened. Didn't really get over it back before the Collapse, couldn't fathom the idea of it now. The first time when Shax rolled up on Alexandria and took her? I damn near lost my mind, and then when Chucklefuck---"

 

Negan surprised Rick by being unable to even say it, he just trailed off, but the anger was palpable.

 

"Well, you saw it with your own eyes," he said, refusing to look at Rick, he was pretty aware he'd been in tears, but he also wasn't ashamed of it. "-I lost something once, someone a long time ago, and I have no problem admitting i never learned how to get over it, but somehow, watching someone you care about getting railed and all you can do is scream, cry and watch. Somehow, it was so much worse," he mumbled, swallowing the thickness in his throat. "I know I never did that to your people and I'd sooner slit my fucking throat before I ever did, but if it was a fraction of that. Then I get it Rick. If this is what it took for me to get it - then God, I do,"

 

Rick watched as Negan slumped over.

 

"I just wish she didn't have to suffer for me to fucking get it,"

 

And now, even though Rick Grimes finally got what he wanted - Negan suffering, Negan feeling remorse, Negan being torn up inside - he felt something in his gut start to hurt - because the way it unfolded for him to finally get what he deserved was so hideous and universally unfair that he could almost be sick from it, and could not feel any true satisfaction from the man's pain.

 

"I wish it could have been different too."

 

* * *

 

 

 Simon returned from the HIlltop letting them know that some Crows had fled there when it became apparent that the Major had turned on Isaiah and was taking forceful control of the group. They splintered off between those who sided with Isaiah's choice and those who remained loyal through the coup. It was a mess of defectors, betrayers and people who just wanted to live after the Extra Long-Range Extermination Bombardment Device had been launched at the southern encampment not too far from The Kingdom where Isaiah had set up his immediate family. The inner circle of Crows was going to be safe, in theory - while the takeover happened, but he didn't expect the Major to turn on him, and that ELBED could fire that far - but it put the fear of God into the remaining Cuervos, and then he shot Isaiah in the spine, and simply took over.

 

Rick ended up taking Carl back to Alexandria with Morgan, but Carol and Daryl stayed with each other, as Carol was still injured and in truth, Daryl didn't want her to leave from the watchful eye of Carson after the amount of blood she lost. It seemed that after your grand usage of the supergun, enough people felt indebted to you that you could secure Negan's safety.

 

"Eugene is dead," you said softly, but it seemed not many people cared besides you - and clearly it bothered you, enough that Negan actually said something.

 

"He was just a coward who was still clinging to being human, Mullet was a lot of things but I don't think he's worth all of your fucking ire," he said with a shrug at Daryl "-I don't know that's fair to hate someone who just wanted to survive, and I gave him survival, he still tried to do right by your people even when he was with me,"

 

Daryl didn't say anything, but Carol looked away from him, clearly not wanting to engage Negan at all, but surprisingly, Creed - who was having his back checked out by Carson and old bandages getting changed, who spoke up, still very much missing a chunk of his back.

 

"It was Eugene who got me out of the Box and if not for that, then you never would have escaped and would have probably had summary executions by the Major," said Creed with a little one-sided shrug. "Not for nothing - I didn't know the guy very long, found him to be a geeky little mouse, but he didn't seem all that bad. He got me out - broke into munitions to get the guns too, I mean, he probably shat himself the whole time, but not everyone can be brave,"

 

"You can hate Eugene if you want but I'm going to make sure his body gets buried," you said, sliding off of the bed now you'd been seen to and walking over to Negan with a grimace. "Sergei's assisting clean-up and I know where he... where he got popped, so, I'm going to do that. You guys can stay here or do whatever, I don't care," and just from your tone, he could tell you were annoyed at how disaffected they were by Eugene's death.

 

Negan followed you and decided to support your body as you walked with noticeable pain, in truth, he liked Eugene, didn't - care deeply - for him, but clearly you did, and he remembered walking in on the pair of you drinking together, and how happy you'd been. You must be hurting about it at least a little, he mused - so without warning, he curled his arm around your lower waist and walked with you to find Eugene's body.

 

"You don't have to do this right away," Negan said, and you were shockingly blunt in response.

 

"I never got to do this for mum, so I'm going to do it for him,"

 

Negan winced.

 

"I'm sorry about that sweetheart," oh, yeah - with retrospect, and actually knowing you now, loving you, caring about you, wanting to take heed of your feelings - he was starting to regret thumping your mother with Lucille - which was still missing, he finally realised, since the Major took it.

 

"She was just a rotter to you, and you didn't know me, so I get it," you said with a bit of bitterness "-I don't hold that against you, it's just that she deserved better."

 

"You escaped with her, you spent your last moments with her, you spent four fucking years protecting her, I think you gave her plenty," said Negan in a blasé tone, but his arm clinched around you tighter, making you feel a warmth in your chest despite the bleakness of the conversation. "I think you give everyone far too much and I think you should fucking stop sometimes,"

 

You stopped, and looked up at him with a curious little frown, only for for your eyes to widen as he raised you off the ground, and he lifted you with incredible ease, making you gasp sharply - not predicting this sudden lift-up coming.

 

"Rick's people, me, everyone. Just stop, just stop and let me take care of you," he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours as he used his tremendous strength to raise you this high quite easily. "I know you don't need it, I know you're fucking strong as fuck, you showed me - showed us all - I know that, but God, I've not been fucking helpless in a long time and I fucking hated it so please," and instantly you knew what he was referring to - when the Major housebroke you in front of everyone and it fucking shattered the man.

 

"I can't get past how fucking useless I was," he breathed - and you wanted to respond, but he hushed you with his lips.

 

"So if nothing else, let me do it for me, let me feel like I can do something good for you, like I can actually look after you, and keep you safe,"

 

You looked down at him, and realised that he was far more broken by what the Major had done then perhaps even you were.

 

"But you do, do something good for me, you love me don't you? You look past all of the....everything," even though this was all your fault, and your presence had brought the bayou here, but he just looked at you like you were simply not asking enough of him, not demanding enough from the world, and gave you a small, worn-out smile.

 

"At the risk of sounding like a cornball, you're not a difficult person to love, whatever you've done and had done, you're very, very easy to love, and I'm not the most lovey guy, but I find myself doin' it every day since - shit, since at least the day you'd got taken from Alexandria. At least then, maybe,"

 

You felt yourself blushing, and answered him back.

 

"Yeah you're being a massive fucking cornball," you breathed, before pushing your lips against his, eyes sparkling with an emotion that Negan couldn't pinpoint, but it made his insides want to do flips for all the right reasons. Fuck's sake, he was forty years old and you still had his stomach doing flips. You gave him your own, tired, battle-exhausted smile as you went for his mouth with a hunger.

 

"Thank God you're hot," you teased, laughing hoarsely.

 


End file.
